Chapter 15: Claimed Completely
The party bled out around her like a dying animal. Voices grew slurry, then faded. Doors slammed. Goodbyes echoed up the stairs. Millie hovered near the kitchen island, pretending to be fascinated by her phone, a cold, half-empty bottle of beer sweating in her other hand. The trickle between her legs had dried into a sticky, reminding film on her skin.
She heard his laugh from the front hall, the deep, easy sound of him saying goodnight to the last stragglers. The lock clicked. Silence descended, heavy and immediate, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
Footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried. He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He’d taken off his t-shirt. It was stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, which were still unbuttoned at the top. His torso was a landscape of lean muscle and shadow in the dim overhead light. He studied her, his gaze a physical weight.
“Zoe’s gone?” he asked, though he knew.
“Yeah. Headache.”
He nodded, walking slowly into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, pulled out two water bottles, and tossed one to her. She caught it against her chest.
“You told her you were staying.”
It wasn’t a question. Millie unscrewed the cap, took a sip. “I did.”
“Why?”
The question startled her. She looked up, meeting his eyes. They were dark, unreadable. “You told me to act normal. Leaving with her wouldn’t have been normal. Not after I’d just gotten here.”
A faint smirk touched his lips. “Quick thinker.” He took a long drink, his throat working. Then he set the bottle down with a decisive click. “Come here.”
The command was quiet. Absolute. Her legs moved before her mind could protest. She stopped a foot from him. The air between them crackled with the aftermath of what they’d done upstairs, and the promise of what was to come.
He reached out and hooked a finger under the strap of her top, pulling it aside to reveal the pale skin of her shoulder. His thumb brushed over the spot where his mouth had been earlier. “You’re still buzzing,” he observed. “I can feel it.”
She said nothing. Her heart was a frantic bird in a cage of ribs.
“My sister’s best friend,” he said, almost to himself, his thumb now tracing her collarbone. “That’s what you are to her. Did you think about that? When you were bent over for me? When you let me come inside you?”
His words were meant to sting, to provoke. They did. They also sent a fresh, hot pulse of desire straight to her core. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And you still stayed.”
“Yes.”
He gripped her chin, forcing her head up. “You want this. This… thing. This secrecy.”
“I want you,” she said, the truth ripped from her, raw and undefended.
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, satisfaction, a predator seeing the trap spring shut. He released her chin. “Bedroom. Now. Don’t make a sound.”
She turned and walked ahead of him, feeling his eyes on her back, on the swing of the black skirt. The upstairs hallway was a tunnel of shadows. His room was as they’d left it, the neon strip now off, the only light a single lamp on the floor, casting a dim, warm globe that pushed the corners of the room into deep darkness. The smell of sex still hung in the air, mixed with his cologne and the dust from the boxes.
He closed the door. The party’ din was gone. The world had shrunk to this room, this man.
“Take it off,” he said, nodding at her top.
She pulled it over her head, let it fall. She unclasped her bra, dropped it. The cool air pebbled her skin. He just watched, his arms crossed, his expression intense, evaluating.
“The skirt too.”
She pushed it down her hips, stepped out of it. She stood before him in just her panties, vulnerable, exposed, her body humming with anticipation.
He finally moved. He closed the distance between them, but didn’t touch her. He circled her instead, a slow, appraising orbit. His fingers trailed lightly across the back of her neck, down her spine, making her shiver. He stopped behind her.
“You came so hard,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Against the door. I felt you milking my cock. You were so fucking tight.” His hands settled on her shoulders, then slid down her arms. He took her wrists and guided them behind her back, holding them together with one of his large hands. “Let’s see if we can do it again.”
With his free hand, he pushed her, gently but firmly, towards the bed. She bent over the edge, her torso pressed into the rumpled duvet, her ass presented to him. Her restrained wrists arched her back, pushing her hips out further.
She heard the rustle of his jeans being shed. Then his warmth was against her. He didn’t enter her. Instead, he ran his palms over the curves of her ass, kneading the flesh. He hooked his thumbs in the sides of her panties and peeled them down her thighs, past her knees, letting them fall to the floor.
He spread her cheeks apart. The cool air hit her most intimate places. She flinched, a gasp catching in her throat.
Then his mouth was on her.
Not where she expected. Lower. The touch was wet, shockingly intimate, a broad, flat stroke of his tongue over a place no one had ever touched. Her whole body jerked. A strangled sound, half-protest, half-moan, escaped her.
“Shhh,” he breathed against her skin, and did it again. A slow, lascivious lick across her asshole.
The sensation was obscene, alien, and unbearably erotic. The shame was a flash fire, instantly consumed by a wave of molten pleasure. He licked her again, and again, wetting her thoroughly, his tongue probing and circling. She pressed back against his face, a silent, desperate plea for more.
He granted it. His tongue pushed inside, just a little, a forbidden, thrilling penetration. She cried out, her face buried in the duvet. One of his hands left her ass and snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and needy. He rubbed tight, quick circles while his tongue worked her back hole.
The dual assault was dizzying. Her world narrowed to the two points of contact—the rough, hot stroke of his tongue and the deft, insistent pressure on her clit. Tension coiled, impossibly tight, in her lower belly.
He slid a thumb into her pussy from behind, crooking it, filling her. Then, as his tongue retreated, he pressed the wet pad of his other thumb against her asshole. He pushed.
It was a slow, insistent pressure. A stretch that burned, then yielded. Her breath came in short, sharp pants. He worked his thumb inside her, just to the first knuckle, while his other thumb still worked inside her cunt, and his fingers still tortured her clit.
He was fucking her with his thumbs, one in each hole, scissoring her open. The fullness was devastating, a corruption so complete it felt like purity. He set a rhythm, in and out, a filthy, synchronized piston.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his voice thick. “Take it. You greedy little slut. You love having both holes filled, don’t you?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only feel. The orgasm ripped through her without warning, a seismic event that tore a ragged scream from her throat. She convulsed around his invading thumbs, her vision whiting out, her body shaking uncontrollably.
He let her ride it out, his movements ceasing, letting her clench and spasm around him. When the last tremor subsided, he slowly pulled his thumbs free.
She was boneless, liquid, her mind blank.
She felt him move, positioning himself behind her. The broad, slick head of his cock nudged not at her wet, willing cunt, but lower, at the clenched, throbbing ring of muscle he’d just prepared.
Her eyes flew open. She tensed.
“Easy,” he said, his voice a low, steady rasp. He rubbed the tip of his cock through the wetness there, coating himself. One hand settled on her hip, holding her still. The other fisted in her hair, not pulling, just holding. “Are you ready?”
She could feel the immense pressure waiting to enter. Fear and want warred, a dizzying cocktail. This was the final boundary. She nodded, her face still mashed into the fabric of the duvet.
“Say it.”
“I’m ready,” she breathed.
He pushed.
The stretch was profound, a burning, inexorable invasion. She cried out, a sharp, pained sound. He didn’t stop. He pushed slowly, inch by devastating inch, letting her body fight and then accept him. Her walls fluttered, clenching wildly around the unfamiliar, overwhelming girth.
“Breathe,” he commanded, his own voice strained. “Fuck. Just breathe, Millie.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. He pushed deeper. The burn began to transmute, melting into a deep, full, impossible pressure. He slid home, until his hips were flush against her ass, until he was buried to the root inside her.
He held there, both of them panting, joined in the most intimate violation. She felt stuffed, impaled, completely owned.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, the words shuddering out of him. “You are so fucking tight. Jesus.”
He began to move. Not the hard, frantic pace from before. This was deeper, slower, a grinding roll of his hips that she felt in her bones. Each withdrawal was an agony of loss, each thrust a breathtaking reclaiming. His grip on her hip was iron, his hand in her hair now anchoring her, keeping her in place for his deep, measured strokes.
The initial pain was gone, replaced by a shocking, full-bodied pleasure. Every nerve ending felt alive, focused on where their bodies were joined. He hit places inside her that made her see stars.
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his rhythm gaining a fraction of speed. “Taking my cock in your ass. God, you’re perfect.”
His praise was her undoing. The pleasure built again, a coiling, urgent pressure different from before. Deeper. More primal. He sensed it. His hand left her hair and reached around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, slick and sensitive. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts.
It was too much. The friction, the deep penetration, the crude, wonderful words. Her second orgasm tore through her, a silent, shattering wave that clenched her entire body. Her ass tightened viscously around his cock, a ruthless, rhythmic squeeze.
With a roar that was pure release, he drove into her one last, final time and held. She felt the hot, pulsing jet of his climax deep inside her bowels, a flood of heat that marked her in this even more secret place. He shuddered violently, his body slumping over hers, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. The smell of sex and sweat was overwhelming.
Slowly, carefully, he softened and slipped out of her. A profound, aching emptiness followed. He didn’t move away immediately. He stayed over her, his weight comforting, his lips pressing a soft, unexpected kiss to the knob of her spine.
Then he straightened. She heard him pad to the bathroom. Water ran. He returned with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, he cleaned her, wiping the sweat from her back, the evidence of their joining from between her legs and her ass. The tenderness of the act, after the brutal intimacy, brought a sudden, shocking prick of tears to her eyes.
He tossed the cloth aside and pulled her onto the bed, into the tangled sheets. He didn’t speak. He just pulled her back against his