Chapter 6: The Submission
The humid air crackled with Cherry’s ragged command still echoing off the fogged-up windows. Devon’s muffled groan vibrated against the slick heat she ground relentlessly against his immobilized face. Then, a shift. His hands, limp on her thighs moments before, surged upwards, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of her hips. He lifted his head just enough, breaking the suffocating press, his breath hot and ragged against her lower back. "Enough," he rasped, the word thick with surrender and a sudden, fierce intent. Before she could protest the loss of contact, his grip tightened, hauling her backwards with startling force.
Her knees slid on the damp leather as he dragged her fully onto him. One powerful arm snaked around her waist, pinning her flush against his chest, her back to his front. The other hand fumbled urgently at his belt buckle, the metallic clink sharp in the charged silence. Cherry gasped, feeling the hard, insistent ridge of his erection pressing against the curve of her ass through his trousers. "Devon—" she started, but his voice cut her off, low and rough against her ear, his lips brushing her sweat-dampened locs.
"Shut up," he growled, not unkindly, but with absolute authority. "You wanted it? You got it." The rasp of his zipper was obscenely loud. She felt the sudden, shocking heat of his bare skin against her ass, then the thick, blunt pressure of him nudging against her soaked, swollen entrance. He didn't hesitate. With a single, powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside her to the hilt.
Cherry cried out, a sound ripped from deep within her chest – pure shock, relief, and overwhelming sensation. Her body arched, instinctively clamping down on the sudden, delicious invasion. "Ohhhh fuck!" she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder. "Yes!"
"God, Cherry," Devon groaned, his voice strained, his breath hot on her neck. His hands slid forward, palms rough against her belly, fingers splaying possessively over her soft curves as he held her immobile against him. He began to move, slow, deep pulls followed by hard, driving thrusts that rocked her entire body forward. "Look at you... fuck... look at you takin' it... Didn't know... didn't know you had all this nasty in you..." Each punctuated word coincided with a sharp snap of his hips.
Cherry whimpered, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, her own hips rolling, seeking more friction, deeper penetration. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the car, rhythmic and wet. "Feels... so good..." she gasped, her hands gripping his thighs behind her for leverage. "Your dick... feels so fucking good inside me..."
"Been wantin' this," Devon gritted out, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, driving her knees wider apart on the seat. His hands slid upwards, rough palms finding her heavy breasts, squeezing, thumbs circling her stiff nipples through the torn silk. "Wanted this fat pussy... wanted these curves... wanted to feel you shake..." He punctuated each phrase with a brutal thrust that made her cry out. "Shake that ass for me, Cherry Blossom... Show me..."
Fueled by his command and her own desperate need, Cherry obeyed. She braced her hands against the dashboard, pushing back against him with fierce abandon, throwing her hips back in sharp, rhythmic twerks that made her flesh ripple against his thighs. Each bounce drove him impossibly deeper, drawing guttural moans from them both. "Yes! Like that!" Devon snarled, his fingers digging into her hips, guiding her movements, matching her rhythm with punishing thrusts. "Beat this pussy up! Beat it!"
"It's yours!" Cherry screamed, the words tearing from her throat, raw and absolute, lost in the primal symphony of their bodies. "It's yours, Daddy! Beat it! Fucking beat it!" Her voice cracked on a sob of pure, surrendered ecstasy as he pistoned into her, claiming every inch, the car shuddering around them.
“It’s yours, Daddy! Beat it! Fucking beat it!" Her voice cracked on a sob of pure, surrendered ecstasy as he pistoned into her, claiming every inch, the car shuddering around them. Sweat slicked their skin, mingling with the scent of sex and rain still clinging to the metal frame. "God, Cherry," Devon groaned, each powerful thrust driving her forward, her palms slipping slightly on the fogged dashboard. "This fat pussy... grips me like a fucking fist... worth every second I waited." His voice was shredded raw, filled with awe and possessive hunger. "Shook your ass at me for months... played so damn reserved... all this time..." He punctuated his words with brutal snaps of his hips, making her gasp. "Should've bent you over my desk weeks ago... showed you who owns this."
Cherry pushed back wildly, meeting his force, her ass slamming against his hips. "Knew you wanted it!" she panted, defiance mixing with desperate pleasure. "Saw you lookin'... saw you starin' at this ass..." She threw a fierce look over her shoulder, catching his dark, intense gaze fixed on where their bodies joined. "Couldn't handle me, could you? Too much woman?" She laughed, a breathy, ragged sound. "Too much this?" She emphasized it with a hard grind back onto his thick cock.
Devon’s answering growl vibrated through her spine. He released one breast, his hand landing hard on her ass cheek with a sharp slap. "Shut your smart mouth," he commanded, the sting making her yelp and clench around him. "Just take this dick... take everything I give you." He drove into her deeper, harder, the tempo relentless. "Feel it? Feel how deep I got?"
"Yes!" Cherry screamed, the sound echoing off the windshield. "Yes, Daddy! Beat it up!" Her vision blurred, the world narrowing to the punishing rhythm, the exquisite pressure building again, coiling impossibly tight. His pace became frantic, animalistic, both of them chasing the inevitable peak. "Devon... I'm gonna...!" she choked out, her body tensing like a bowstring.
He roared, a sound ripped from his gut, burying himself impossibly deep as her inner walls pulsed and fluttered around him. Her own cry fractured the humid air, a raw, guttural release that shook her entire frame. They collapsed forward together, trembling, slick skin pressed together, breath sawing in ragged unison. The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the faint drip of condensation inside the fogged-up windows. Dawn’s first pale, unforgiving light began seeping around the edges of the windshield, washing the interior in a cold, grey luminescence. Devon slowly lifted his head, blinking against the intrusion. He looked down at Cherry’s slack, sated profile pressed against the leather, then out at the stark, empty lot now visible. His large hand, resting possessively on her hip, gave a single, gentle squeeze. "Morning," he murmured, his voice rough but infinitely softer. "Morning changes everything."
The grey dawn light felt like an indictment. Cherry flinched as it washed over her bare skin, suddenly exposed and vulnerable against the cold leather. She scrambled off him, legs shaky, yanking the torn silk of her romper up over her hips with trembling hands, trying desperately to cover the evidence of their raw joining. Devon watched her, his expression unreadable in the harsh morning glow, his own movements slower, deliberate as he adjusted his clothing. "I... I need to go," she stammered, avoiding his eyes, her voice thin and strained. "Just... drive me home?"
He didn't answer immediately, just started the engine, the sudden roar loud in the fragile silence. The drive was thick with tension, the scent of sex and sweat and stale gin trapped in the SUV’s confines. She stared out the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, the view of waking streets blurring past. He pulled up to her building quickly, efficiently. "Thanks for the ride," she mumbled, already fumbling for the door handle, her movements frantic. Click. The unmistakable sound of automatic locks engaging echoed sharply. Her hand jerked back as if burned.
"Cherry." Devon's voice was low, gravelly from disuse and the night’s exertions. She froze, staring straight ahead, heart hammering against her ribs. "So," he continued, the single word heavy as stone. "We not gonna talk about last night?" The question hung there, demanding.
She closed her eyes briefly, gathering the frayed edges of her composure. "No," she whispered, then forced it stronger. "No, Devon. I need time. Time to think." Her knuckles were white where she gripped her knees.
"Why?" The question was quiet, but it filled the entire car, pressing in on her from all sides. He turned slightly in his seat, his gaze searching her profile, the intensity she’d craved hours ago now feeling like an unbearable weight. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't answer. The silence stretched, brittle and sharp.
The silence stretched, brittle and sharp. "Why?" Devon repeated, lower, the vibration of his deep voice unsettling the charged air trapped inside the fogged-up SUV. His gaze remained fixed on her profile, intense and unwavering, amplifying her discomfort in the stark morning light filtering through the windshield. "Last night wasn't just... that." He gestured vaguely towards the back seat, the implicit reference to the torn silk, the wet spot, the raw sounds they’d made hanging heavy between them.
Cherry flinched as if struck, her fist clenching around the door handle she couldn't open. "Look," she started, her voice tight, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. She stared straight ahead at the peeling paint on her apartment building’s stoop. "I can't, okay? I can't do this... feelings thing. Not now." Hot tears of frustration pricked behind her eyes, blurring the familiar view. "I told you I'm not... I'm not relationship material, Devon." The declaration felt brittle, defensive.
He shifted, the leather seat groaning. "Material?" The word was flat. "What the hell does that even mean, Cherry? After last night... after you screaming mine?" He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers, the casual contact sending an unwanted jolt through her weary body. She caught the lingering scent of her own arousal mixed with his cologne and sweat on his shirt.
"It means I'm messy!" she blurted, twisting finally to face him, her locs swinging. Exhaustion and the fading adrenaline crash made her words tumble out fast, raw. "My life is case files and court dates and my goddamn cat who pukes on everything. I barely remember to eat." Her hand trembled as she gestured vaguely towards herself. "I’m burnt out. My head’s a disaster zone. I’m not... built for soft right now. Or promises." She swallowed hard, avoiding the searching depth in his dark eyes. "I don’t want you thinking this," she waved a shaky hand again, encompassing the car, the night, them, "means something it doesn't. I don't want to give you the wrong impression."
Devon didn't move, didn't speak for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Outside, a neighbor’s car door slammed, a jarringly normal sound. He simply watched her, his thumb tracing a slow circle on the worn leather of the steering wheel.
He simply watched her, his thumb tracing a slow circle on the worn leather of the steering wheel. The air conditioning hummed, chilling the sweat drying on Cherry’s skin, making her shiver in her torn, inadequate clothes. "Messy?" Devon finally said, the word quiet, measured. His gaze didn’t waver from her face. "Case files? Burnout? That ain't news to me, Cherry. I got eyes." He leaned back slightly, his large hand finally leaving the wheel to gesture vaguely at the car's confines. "You think I don't know your life? Your work?"
Cherry huffed, pulling her torn romper tighter, the rip at her hip gaping. "Knowing and dealing are two different things, Devon." Her voice cracked. "Last night... that was a mistake. A release. Gin and an edible and... and you." She squeezed her eyes shut. "It doesn't mean I'm signing up for... complications. For expectations I can’t meet."
"Complications?" A low, disbelieving chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You screamed my name loud enough to crack the damn windows, Cherry Blossom." His voice hardened, the casual endearment laced with steel. "You demanded I beat that pussy up, claimed it was mine." He shifted, the movement making the car creak. "You don’t get to call that a mistake and slam the door."
Panic fluttered in her throat. "It was just sex!" she insisted, too loud, her knuckles white where she gripped the seat. "Intense, yeah, but... just sex! People have it! They walk away!" The plea sounded hollow even to her own ears. The scent of him – sweat, musk, her own arousal – was thick in the air, mocking her.
Devon turned fully now, his large frame seeming to fill the driver's seat, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The early light etched the lines of his face, the intensity in his dark eyes terrifyingly clear. He reached out, not touching her, but his fingers brushed the door lock control. The click echoed like a gunshot. His gaze pinned her, unblinking.
HE DEMANDS ANSWERS.