Chapter 9: pretty abs
The dorm room was a deep, silent blue, the only light the pale glow from his phone screen. It painted the sharp planes of his bare torso in monochrome. Caitlyn lay beside him, the damp sheets cool against her back, her body still humming with the echoes of how he’d taken her. The soreness between her legs was a precious, private trophy. She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her eyes traced the hard lines of his abdomen, the way each defined muscle lay smooth and pale under the faint light. She’d always wanted to touch them, to taste them, to feel them under her. The memory of the broken ribbons, of his instant, terrifying power, made her belly clench with a new, wet heat.
“You’re staring,” he said, not looking from his phone.
“Can’t help it,” she whispered. “Your body is fucking insane.” She reached out, a single finger tracing the deep groove that slanted from his hip bone. His skin was warm, smooth. He didn’t flinch, but his breath hitched just enough for her to hear it. Emboldened, she slid her hand flat over the rigid landscape of his stomach. The muscles jumped under her palm. A reckless idea, born from hours of secret fantasy and the raw aftermath of their last fight, took hold. “I want to ride you,” she said, her voice husky. “Not your dick. Just… this.”
He finally lowered his phone, the light dying, plunging them into near darkness. She couldn’t see his face, only felt the intense weight of his gaze. After a long moment, he shifted, settling back more firmly against the sheets, his hands coming up to lace behind his head. It was a silent, profound permission.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She moved, straddling his hips, her thin thong and his sweats the only barriers. She could feel the hard ridge of him beneath the fabric, but she ignored it, lowering herself until her cunt, swollen and slick, rested against the sculpted plateau of his lower abdomen. The contact was electric, a filthy, intimate friction. She began to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips, coating his skin with her wetness, the rough texture of his sweats an added tease against her clit. “Fuck,” she breathed, her head falling back, her hands braced on his chest. She rocked faster, the sensation purely for her, a selfish, erotic slide. She was using him, and the dark, approving silence from below told her he loved it.
Her movements grew more frantic, the wet sound of her cunt sliding over his stomach obscenely loud in the quiet room. "You like that?" she panted, her voice trembling with exertion and need. His hands unclasped from behind his head and snaked up her sides, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her waist.
"I like watching you fall apart on me," he said, his tone a low rasp that vibrated through her. He sat up suddenly, wrapping one arm around her back to hold her close, his other hand fisting in her hair. The abrupt change in position made her gasp, her breasts pressing against his chest through the lace of her bra.
"But I want skin," he muttered into her neck, his breath hot and demanding. His hand left her hair and grabbed the center of her bra, where the flimsy clasp sat between her shoulder blades. With a single, brutal tug, he ripped the fabric apart.
The sound of tearing lace was sharp and final, like the ribbons she'd tied hours before. Cool air hit her nipples, already hard and aching, and she cried out, more from shock than pain. He tossed the ruined bra aside, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her bare breasts.
"Better," he grunted, his hands coming up to squeeze her flesh, his thumbs rough on her nipples. She whimpered, the dual sensations of his touch and the continued grind of her hips overwhelming her. "Now ride my abs properly,"
She obeyed, shifting her weight forward to slide her dripping cunt directly onto the bare, rigid topography of his stomach. The muscles there were unforgiving, each ridge and groove hitting her swollen clit and sensitive outer lips with a precision that made her gasp. His gorgeous hands settled on her ass, not guiding, just owning, his fingers sinking deep into her flesh as she rocked against him.
“Yeah, just like that,” he muttered, his voice thick with a tired, raw heat that was even more intoxicating than his fury. “Grind that pretty pussy all over me” His eyes were heavy-lidded, almost closed, as he watched her use him. “Fuck, you’re so wet for it. Soaking my stomach, you filthy girl.”
She rode him harder, the wet, slapping sounds obscene, her pleasure coiling tight. His hands squeezed, helping her find a rhythm that made her see stars. “God, your abs… they’re so fucking hard,” she panted, her own hands braced on his shoulders for leverage.
His praise, sleepy and graveled, poured over her. “. That’s it. Ride it.” A low groan rumbled from his chest as she fucked herself on him. Driven by a sudden, possessive need, she seized one of his wrists, pulling his hand from her ass.
She brought his fingers to her mouth, her eyes locked on his half-closed ones, and sucked his first two fingers deep past her lips. She tasted salt and skin and the faint, metallic hint of herself from where he’d touched her. He watched, mesmerized, as she worshiped his hand, her tongue swirling around his digits.
“Needy little thing,” he breathed, his thumb stroking her lower lip. She sucked harder, a filthy, wet promise, before releasing his fingers with a pop.
His eyes, heavy and dark with sleep a moment before, sharpened completely. That deliberate, wet provocation had cleared the last fog from his mind. He didn’t speak. His hands, now slick from her mouth, slid from her lips to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling tight in her long, tangled hair.
He pulled her down to him, not for a kiss, but to bury his face against the frantic pulse in her throat. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her sweat and their sex and her shamelessness flooding his senses. Then his mouth opened hot and wide against her skin.
He didn’t suck. He didn’t tease.
He bit.
His teeth sank into the tender junction of her neck and shoulder with a possessive, punishing pressure that stole the air from her lungs. The pain was immediate and shocking, a bright, white brand searing through the haze of her pleasure. She froze atop him, a sharp, wounded cry catching in her throat. He held her there, locked in the vise of his jaw, for one eternal, breathless second where the world narrowed to the sharp points of his teeth and the wild hammering of her own blood.
He released
He released the bite, leaving a throbbing, wet brand on her skin. A ragged sob escaped her as the sharp pain melted into a deep, spreading heat that pooled lower in her belly. His hands slid from her hair down to her hips, his grip firm and directing. "Don't stop," he commanded, his voice a dark scrape against her ear. His own hips lifted, meeting her frantic downward grind, the hard plane of his stomach rubbing her clit with relentless pressure.
The combined sensations—the burning claim on her neck, the rough friction below—drove her to a fever pitch. Her movements became jerky, uncontrolled, her cunt soaking his skin as she fucked herself against him. "I can't... fuck... I'm gonna..." she babbled, her words dissolving into breathless whimpers.
He watched her face contort in the near-dark, his expression one of rapt, savage approval. His thumbs dug into the soft divots of her hips, steering her, using her. "Yeah, you are," he growled. His voice dropped, low and insistent, as he saw her eyelids flutter shut. She was so close too close."
He punctuated the words with a hard, upward thrust of his abdomen that made her scream. "Cum all over me, baby. Let it out for Daddy."
The command was the final detonation. A sharp, pulsing cry tore from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her, violent and total. Her body seized, her cunt clenching around nothing as wave after wave of pleasure radiated from where she ground against him. She shuddered uncontrollably, her slickness painting his stomach in hot, shuddering bursts, her nails scraping down his chest as she completely fell apart.
The final pulses of her climax left her trembling and hollow, a spent shell draped across his body. Her cunt felt so empty. The frantic friction was gone, replaced by a deep, aching need for fullness. She needed his fingers inside her, stretching her, filling the sudden void.
She whimpered, a soft, broken sound against his collarbone. He shifted beneath her, his hands moving from her hips to her back. “Already?” he murmured, his voice rough with something like pride. His palm slid down the sweat-slick curve of her spine, pressing her closer.
He rolled them, reversing their positions with a single motion that left her pinned beneath him. The cool sheets touched her back. He looked down at her, his gaze tracing the fresh bite mark on her neck, his own stomach glistening with her release. He lowered his mouth to her throat, not to bite, but to kiss the sensitive, bruised skin there.
His lips were shockingly soft, a slow, open-mouthed apology pressed against the throbbing mark. She arched into the touch, a moan escaping her. “Please,” she whispered, her hands sliding down to his waistband.
He caught her wrist, stopping her. “I decide.” His other hand smoothed over her thigh, pushing her legs further apart. He kissed a damp trail along her jaw, down to the frantic pulse at the base of her neck, his breath hot. “You’re still so fucking greedy.”
Two of his fingers, slick from her own wetness on his skin, pressed against her entrance. He pushed inside, not slowly, but with a firm, deliberate thrust that stole her breath. Her cunt clenched around the invasion, so tight, so ready for him. “God, yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting off the bed.
He worked his fingers in and out, a slow, obscene rhythm that made her squirm. “This what you needed?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her throat. He curled his fingers, searching, until they found that spot deep inside that made her cry out. “You needed to be filled again huh babygirl?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she panted, her world narrowing to the stretch of his knuckles and the soft, relentless pressure of his mouth on her neck. He added a third finger, the burn exquisite, and her words dissolved into a sharp, keening sound. He fucked her with his hand, his thumb circling her clit, pushing her relentlessly toward another edge.
He fucked her with his hand, his thumb circling her clit, pushing her relentlessly toward another edge. “Close,” she gasped, her vision swimming, every nerve pulled taut toward that point inside her his fingers owned. He withdrew his hand completely, leaving her clenching around empty, frustrated air.
A broken sound of protest died in her throat as he moved down her body. His mouth, hot and demanding, replaced his fingers without warning. He licked into her, a deep, savoring stroke that tasted her climax and her desperation. “You taste like mine,” he growled against her slick flesh, his tongue fucking her with the same ruthless rhythm his fingers had used.
His teeth grazed her swollen clit, making her jolt. “Please, baby, I need—” His hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her. He looked up, his chin glistening, his eyes black in the dim light. “You get what I give ok?.” He returned to her, his tongue spear-pointing inside her, then flattening against her clit in rough, broad strokes that burned.
She muffled a scream against his palm, her hips bucking off the bed, but he held her down, pinning her with his weight and his will. The coil snapped. White light erupted behind her eyes as she came against his mouth, her body convulsing in silent, shuddering waves. He drank her down, relentless, until the last spasm faded into a weak twitch.
He crawled back up her body, his knees pushing her thighs wider. He kissed her, hard, letting her taste herself on his tongue. He reached between them, freeing himself from his sweats. The thick, blunt head pressed against her, still fluttering and sensitive from her orgasm. He pushed in slowly, a burning, stretching reclamation that made her whimper.
He seated himself fully, a low groan vibrating in his chest. He stilled, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers. Their breaths mingled, sharp and shallow. “UR SO PRETTY LIKE THIS BABY,” he breathed, the words raw and reverent against her lips. He pulled back just enough to see her face. “YOUR PUSSY STILL TO TIGHT JUST FOR ME.”
His voice was a thick, sleep-drunk murmur against her lips, the words slurring with exhaustion and possession. He began to move again, a slow, deep roll of his hips that was less a frantic pounding and more a languid, total claiming. His eyes were heavy-lidded, barely open, as if he were fucking her through a dream.
He shifted his weight, his hands sliding under her knees. With a tired, effortless strength, he hitched her legs up and over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half. The new angle was profound, a deep, breathtaking penetration that made her gasp and claw at the sheets.
“Hao,” she whimpered, feeling him reach a place that still throbbed from his fingers and his mouth.
“Shhh,” he breathed, his rhythm steady and hypnotic. He drove into her with a sleepy, relentless persistence, each thrust a heavy, perfect stroke. “Just taking what’s mine.” His head drooped between her raised thighs, his lips brushing her knee. “Fuck, you feel good baby .” The pace was primal and unchanging, the sound of their joining a wet, rhythmic slap in the quiet dark. He was half-asleep, wholly inside her, moving on pure instinct. “Could stay here,” he mumbled, his voice fading into the curve of her leg. “Forever.
His voice trailed into her skin, a sleepy sigh. His thrusts slowed, becoming even heavier, more languid, the deep, full pulses of a man on the very edge of consciousness. She felt his weight settle, his breathing even out against her knee.
A soft, contented ache spread through her. She shifted her hips, a minute adjustment to feel him just that much deeper. The movement, subtle as it was, snapped the thin wire of his waking control.
His eyes opened. The sleepy softness evaporated, replaced by that familiar, dark focus. He slid out of her with a wet sound that made her gasp at the sudden emptiness. He didn’t leave the bed. He moved up her body, his knees pinning her thighs, his hands capturing her wrists as they rose instinctively to his chest.
He pulled them above her head, his grip firm and final. "Stay," he murmured, the word not a request. Reaching beside the bed, his fingers closed around the cuffs from his drawer.
The thick, metal was still warm. He looped them around her right wrist, then her left, binding them together with a swift, practiced efficiency that spoke of sudden, sober intention. He tied a tight, complex knot against the headboard's slats, the restraint unforgiving.
The metal cuffs bit into her wrists, a cold, stark contrast to the heat of his body still hovering over hers. He stared down at her captured form, his breathing still heavy from sleep and exertion. Then he leaned over, his movements slow with residual fatigue, and fumbled in the nightstand drawer.
His fingers closed around a narrow strip of black silk. He didn’t speak as he brought it over her eyes. The world disappeared into a profound, smothering dark. She tensed, a sharp inhale catching in her throat as the knot tightened at the back of her head.
All she had left was sound, touch, and the pounding of her own heart. The mattress dipped as he moved between her legs. She heard the soft rustle of fabric, the sound of him spitting into his palm. His hands, rough and warm, gripped the inside of her thighs, pushing them wider.
The blunt, slick head pressed against her entrance, not with force, but with a tired, inevitable pressure. He was still half-hard, but he pushed into her anyway, a slow, burning stretch that made her cry out into the darkness. He sank deep with a low, ragged groan, his hips meeting hers, his weight settling heavily upon her.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his breath hot and damp against her ear. He didn’t move for a long moment, just stayed buried inside her, as if gathering strength. Then he drew back and pressed into her again, a sluggish, grinding thrust that rubbed every raw, sensitive place within her. “So tight… even like this.”
His hips rocked again, a slow, deep piston driven by fatigue and absolute ownership. The blindfold made every sensation immense: the scrape of his torso against her, the hot slip of him inside, the raw stretch. “You take it so well,” he breathed against her ear, his voice thick and sleep-roughened. His thrusts gained a sloppy, relentless rhythm, each one punching a soft gasp from her lungs. “This greedy cunt just swallows me, doesn’t it?” She could only whimper, her world reduced to the smell of sex and sweat and him, the sound of skin, the burning fullness.
He drove into her, his pace steadying into something harder, more purposeful. One hand slid from her thigh to her throat, not squeezing, just holding, his thumb resting on her frantic pulse. “Wished I could see your eyes,” he grunted, “but this is better.” His mouth was wet and hot against her ear, his breath coming in ragged gusts. “You love when i use you in the dark hm?.” The words were a filthy, whispered gravel against her skin. “My perfect little angel, all tied up and blind.” He punctuated each profanity with a deep, grinding thrust that made her sob. “I could come inside this sweet pussy and you’d just have to lie there and take it, wouldn’t you?” His voice dropped to a husk, a secret just for her. “Dripping my cum, knowing you’re full of me, and you can’t do a fucking thing.”
His words coiled in the blackness behind the silk, a dark promise that made her cunt clench tightly around him. She heard his breath hitch, felt the way his hips stuttered against hers. “Hao,” she pleaded, the word thin and strained against the hand still near her throat.
“Yes, baby?” he asked, his voice rough but closer now, his lips grazing her jaw.
“Kiss me.” She pleaded, turning her blindfolded face towards the heat of his breath. “Fuck, you’re so adorable,” he said, the gruff tenderness disarming before his mouth crashed down on hers possessively.
The kiss was a brutal claiming, all tongue and teeth and shared, ragged air. It swallowed her next plea as his hips began to piston in earnest, the languid fatigue burnt away by her demand. Each deep, driving thrust now slammed the headboard into the wall with a renewed, splitting rhythm. The metal cuffs bit into her wrists with every jolt, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, internal friction. She could taste herself on his tongue, salty and slick, and she drank him down greedily. His hand left her throat, sliding down to grip her hip hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier.
“Gonna fill this perfect cunt,” he grunted against her mouth, his rhythm becoming erratic, animal. “Gonna pump you so full you feel it for days.” A guttural sound tore from his chest, part agony, part triumph, as he shoved into her one final, devastating time. He held there, pulsing, as a hot, sudden flood spilled deep inside her, marking his territory in the most primal way. His weight collapsed onto her, a sweaty, spent anchor, his forehead damp against her shoulder.