Chapter 4: Claimed
Her hand around him was an electric command. "Now," she panted, the word guttural and stripped bare. "Fuck me. Right now. Before I think about it."
David didn't need to be told twice. The frantic, theoretical scramble of the last twenty-four hours crystallized into a single, brutal imperative. He yanked his sweater over his head, fumbled with his belt and jeans, shoving everything down in a frantic tangle of fabric. He kicked them aside, not caring where they landed, his eyes locked on her.
Alice was already moving. She turned from him, her movements careful and deliberate with the new, deep fullness inside her, and crawled onto the bed. The worn mattress springs groaned softly. She got onto her hands and knees, her back a graceful, pale arch. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dark and wide, her hair falling across the fresh, drying streaks on her cheek. "Come on, David. Don't make me wait."
He followed, kneeling behind her on the rumpled duvet. The sight of her like that, presented and waiting, the jeweled base of the plug a shocking, intimate accent against her skin, made his head swim. He placed a trembling hand on the small of her back, feeling the heat of her, the fine tremors running through her muscles. With his other hand, he guided himself to her entrance. She was already slick, impossibly so, her wetness mingling with the residual lube.
The first push was a revelation.
He met immediate, heated resistance, then a yielding so profound it pulled a choked sound from his throat. She was tight, but the internal pressure of the plug changed everything. It made her feel infinitely deeper, tighter around him, a silken, clutching vice that seemed to draw him in further with every millimeter. Her gasp was sharp, a hiss of intake that melted into a long, shuddering moan.
"Oh, god," she breathed, dropping her forehead to the bedspread. "Oh, fuck, that's... it's so much."
He sank deeper, buried to the hilt, and they both went utterly still for a fractured second, overwhelmed by the sheer, congested fullness of it. Every tiny movement he made shifted everything inside her, the dual pressures creating a feedback loop of sensation. He could feel the firm shape of the plug through the thin wall separating them, a constant, pressing presence.
"Okay?" he managed, his voice ragged.
"Move," she pleaded, her fingers twisting in the blanket. "Just move."
He pulled back, almost out, then drove forward again. The rhythm was clumsy at first, a stuttering, desperate thing. But then it found its groove. He settled into her, his hands gripping her hips, his knees finding purchase on the soft mattress. The pace began to build, each thrust met with a corresponding push back from her, the bedframe starting a soft, rhythmic complaint against the wall.
The air filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, their ragged breaths, and Alice's broken, encouraging moans. "Yes. There. Right there."
One of her hands snaked down from gripping the blanket. He watched, mesmerized, as her fingers found her clit. Her touch was not gentle; it was focused and furious, a rapid, circling pressure that made her back bow sharply.
"Don't stop," she demanded, her voice cracking. "Harder."
He obeyed, his own control fraying. He drove into her, each impact jolting through both of them, the plug ensuring he hit depths that made her cry out every time. Her breathing became frantic, shallow panting. Her fingers worked faster.
"I'm gonna... David, I'm—" Her warning was a sharp cry, lost in the next thrust.
Her orgasm hit her like a seizure. Her whole body tightened, clamping around him with a pulsating, rhythmic intensity that dragged a guttural groan from his own chest. She shook, a series of violent tremors, her knuckles white where she gripped the bed, a raw, continuous sound ripped from her throat. She rode it out, milking him, until she finally collapsed forward onto her elbows, spent and panting.
He stilled inside her, throbbing, agonizingly close. The feel of her climax still echoing around him was almost too much to bear.
She twisted under him, pushing him back with a surprising strength. "No," she gasped, her face flushed and gleaming with sweat. "Not yet. Turn over."
Confused, he withdrew, the sudden emptiness a shock. She rolled onto her back, scooting up the bed until her head hit the pillows. She looked wrecked and utterly powerful, her eyes blazing. She spread her legs, hooked her knees, and opened herself to him again. Her fingers went back to her clit, which was swollen and bright.
"Here," she commanded, her voice hoarse but clear. "I want to see you. I want you to use me. Do it. Fuck me until you can put it on my face again."
Her words, so crude and direct, ignited him. He moved over her, bracing himself on his elbows, and sank into her wet heat once more. This angle was different, deeper in a new way, and he could see every flicker of sensation on her face. Her eyes were locked on his, unwavering.
"That's it," she urged, her hips meeting his thrusts. "Use me. For the rent. For all of it. Come on, David. Do it."
He was losing himself, the coil in his gut winding impossibly tight. Her frank hunger, her deliberate debasement wrapped in total control, was the most potent aphrodisiac he'd ever known. His rhythm became frantic, punishing. Her heels dug into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice a strangled rasp.
"Good." Her free hand came up and gripped his hair, pulling his face down to hers. Her breath was hot against his lips. "Do it. Mark me. Cover me. I want to feel it."
The permission, the demand, shattered the last of his restraint. With a final, deep drive, he buried himself inside her and came. It was a brutal, emptying release, a white-hot flood that seemed to pull from the very core of him. He cried out, a sound ripped from somewhere primal.
As the pulses began, he pulled out, just as she’d instructed. He scrambled up her body, his hand fumbling around himself. The first thick, hot stripe landed across her closed eyelid and the bridge of her nose.
She gasped, but her hand between her legs never stopped. If anything, the frantic circles intensified.
He painted a second stripe over her parted lips and chin, layering it over the earlier, dried splatters. A third landed on her forehead, dripping slowly into her hairline. He was messy, uncontrolled, marking the canvas of her face with frantic, possessive strokes.
Alice was whimpering now, a high, desperate sound. The feel of it, the warm splash on her skin, the obscene reality of it, seemed to catapult her. Her back arched clear off the bed, a silent scream on her lips as a second, searing orgasm tore through her, this one shorter but sharper, a bright, convulsive shock.
He was spent, shaking, but she wasn't done. As the last drops fell onto her cheek, her hand was still a blur between her thighs, rubbing her own wetness and his release from her skin back into her slick flesh. She was chasing something, a third peak, her eyes squeezed shut against the mess on her face.
"Look at me," he breathed, the words coming out before he could think.
Her eyes flew open. She looked up at him, her face glazed and streaked, her expression one of feral, defiant ecstasy. The sight of her like that, utterly claimed and utterly in command, was what pushed her over. A third, shuddering climax, smaller but no less intense, rippled through her. It was a quiet one, a series of deep internal flutters that made her legs tremble, her hand finally stilling and falling away to the mattress.
Silence fell, heavy and complete, broken only by their ragged, struggling breaths. He collapsed beside her, his body a dead weight. They lay there, side by side, not touching, staring at the water-stained ceiling where the bare bulb flickered weakly.
After a long moment, Alice turned her head on the pillow. The movement crackled the drying streaks on her skin. She looked at him, her expression unreadable in the dim, failing light.
"Well," she said, her voice rough but carrying a strange, buoyant note. "That's two."