Chapter 16: Blood and Water
Dayne carried her up to the Aurora penthouse, his hands finally clean of blood, and set her down gently in the cavernous marble shower. He traced the faint, rosy stretch marks across her swollen belly with a reverence that bordered on worship, his tongue following the same path. “Tell me what you need, Zee,” he murmured, his voice hoarse against her slick skin as his fingers slid between her thighs. She gasped, her head falling back against the cold tile, as two of his thick fingers pushed inside her, the hot water washing over them both like a baptism. “Just you, fucking me, making me forget everything but this,” she breathed, guiding his throbbing cock to her entrance with a wet, deliberate hand.
He pushed into her with a single, deep stroke that forced a shattered gasp from her lips, the warm water sluicing over where their bodies joined. Her hand slid between them, her fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as she felt him buried to the hilt inside her. “I was so terrified,” she whispered against his throat, her palm gently stroking his length as she spoke, her hips beginning to move. “That if something happened to the baby, I’d lose the only ghost of you I’d have left.” Dayne’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering for a second as her words carved through the heat, replacing it with a devastating ache.
He carried their wet bodies to the bed, water dripping onto the hardwood as he laid her down. “Get on your knees for me, baby,” he growled, his hands guiding her hips until she was on all fours before him. He entered her from behind in one deep, unforgiving thrust, then wrapped his arms around her belly and pulled her up flush against his chest. “I need you to feel this, to feel me,” he rasped into her ear, his hips grinding in slow, deliberate circles against her ass. He held her gaze through the walled mirror, his eyes locked on hers as he murmured, “After all that time apart, I need to make love to you, not just fuck you.”
His hands slid from her belly to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples as he watched her lips part in the mirror. "Every fucking piece of you is mine," he breathed, his pace shifting from those slow circles to a harder, deeper rhythm that made her cry out. "Say it," he demanded, his voice rough with a possession that went beyond skin. "It was always yours," she gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder as he fucked her with a raw, claiming urgency.
"Good," he snarled, his fingers tightening in her hair as his thrusts became brutal. In the lounge below, Leo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the wet slap of skin and guttural cries echoing down the open staircase with impossible, raw clarity. "This cunt feels like a fucking fist," Dayne grunted into her ear, each punctuation of his hips slamming her forward, "milking my goddamn soul out through my dick." "It's pulling everything from me," he gasped, his climax tearing through him as he emptied deep inside her tight, swollen heat. "All of it, Zee, take it all back," he choked out, collapsing against her trembling form as the final, seismic shudder racked his body.
She waited only until his breathing evened, then shoved his shoulder back against the soaked sheets. “I’m not finished,” she whispered, her voice husky and raw as she straddled his hips, her full, wet ass hovering just above his softening length. She ground her swollen pussy against him, a slow, insistent rotation that coaxed his cock back to rigid, aching life beneath her. When he was fully hard again, she sank down in one smooth, claiming slide, taking every thick inch deep inside her until he was buried to the hilt. The view was devastating: the clench of her asshole, the heavy sway of her phat ass, and the hungry grip of her cunt swallowing his shaft whole as she began to rotate her hips.
She rode his cock like her life depended on it, her body a frantic piston, the obscene, wet slap of her phat ass meeting his thighs echoing violently around their glass and stone sanctuary. “Fuck, Zee, slow down, please,” he begged, his voice shredded, but she growled a guttural no and only ground harder, the sounds genuinely pornographic in their raw, animalistic brutality. Gripping her waist, he sat up in one fluid motion, her cunt impossibly tight as he maneuvered them, needing her belly against his, needing the unbearable closeness of her racing heart thumping against his own sweat-slicked chest. Face to face now, her climax tore through her first; her whole body seized, a primal scream ripping from her throat as she told him she was going to squirt all over him, and then a hot flood gushed between them, soaking their stomachs and the bed beneath in her release. Still riding him through her own aftershocks, their foreheads pressed together, her breaths raw gasps.
Still riding him through her own aftershocks, their foreheads pressed together, her breaths raw gasps, she began to move again with a desperate, furious rhythm. “I need it,” she panted, her voice breaking, “I need to feel you come inside me right now.” He groaned, his hands sliding from her waist to grip her ass, his fingers digging into the soft, full flesh as he tried to slow the brutal, perfect friction. She rode him harder, a wild, demanding piston of hips and heat that shredded his control. As he felt his own seismic eruption getting ready to detonate within her clenching heat, that tight soft cunt—his cunt, the same cunt he bred and succeeded in—he begged her to slow down, his voice a ragged plea lost in the slap of skin.
S
She kissed him softly, her mouth a tender contrast to the ferocity of her hips. She was hell bent on pulling the cum from his nuts, herself. She shifted, grinding down hard, and this was milking a cock in its purest, most punishing form. He prayed to a god he’d long forsaken, begging for the grace to keep breathing, to hold on a bit longer, and then he looked up and saw her perfect chocolate tits, covered in a glistening sheen. She suckled one swollen nipple into her own mouth, her dark eyes locking with his over the curve of her breast, and then he knew it was game over.
He tried to hold back but he failed. A broken groan ripped from his chest as his cock pulsed deep inside her, each thick, hot jet of cum flooding her in waves he couldn’t stop. “Fuck, Zee, I’m filling you up,” he choked out, his hips stuttering helplessly against her. She moaned, a low, satisfied sound, and clenched around him, milking every last drop from his shuddering body until he was completely spent. He collapsed back onto the sheets, pulling her with him, their sweat-slick skin sticking together in the heavy silence.
He lay spent, breathing ragged, but her hips began a slow, insistent roll against his still-sensitive cock. “Zee, baby, I’m empty,” he whispered, his voice scraped raw, but she pressed a silencing finger to his lips. Her cunt, swollen and slick, clenched around him with a ruthless, practiced rhythm, a desperate search for something more than release. “I need you hard again,” she breathed against his mouth, her hand sliding down to fondle his balls, her touch demanding. A broken sound escaped his throat as, against all limits, he felt his body respond, blood rushing back into his aching flesh under her relentless, claiming hands.
A broken sound escaped his throat as, against all limits, he felt his body respond, blood rushing back into his aching flesh under her relentless, claiming hands. She rose up, her slick cunt dragging along his newly hardened length until only the swollen head remained inside her, and then she sank down again with an excruciating, deliberate slowness that made his vision blur. “That’s it,” she whispered, her voice a husky command as she rolled her hips in a tight, circular grind, milking him with unhurried precision. Each downward stroke was a deep, claiming possession, her body taking him in slow-motion, forcing him to feel every inch of her hot, tight grip. He could only watch, breath ragged, as she set a torturous rhythm, her eyes locked on his, completely in control.
He stopped fighting the tidal pull of her, letting his head fall back into the pillows as a shuddering breath escaped him. "All yours," he rasped, his hands sliding from her hips to fall limp at his sides, a deliberate yielding of all control. Her rhythm shifted, growing deeper, more possessive, as she felt his complete submission in the loosening of his muscles and the silent gasp parting his lips. "That's it, give it all to me," she whispered, watching his face contort.
"That's it, give it all to me," she whispered, watching his face contort. She had her fun with this low shit, his balls ached from the denied release. In one brutal motion, he flipped her onto her back, the air rushing from her lungs as he took control, fiercely. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, her face cradled in his hands as he looked down at her. "My turn," he growled, and thrust back into her sodden cunt with a force that stole her breath.
"My turn," he growled, and thrust back into her sodden cunt with a force that stole her breath. Dayne took her like a demon, the slow, grinding worship she’d wrung from him burnt to ash by a relentless, punishing rhythm that hammered her into the mattress. His voice, a raw scrape against her ear, carried the stink of the butcher’s room. "I gave you your fun," he grunted, each word punctuated by a piston-hard drive of his hips, "now I'm going to break you open and fucking live inside you again." He locked her gaze, driving deeper, fucking her with every feral ounce of agony and longing she’d left him to drown in, while Leo whistled softly from below at the wet, slapping violence of it.
He felt her body tense, a flinch beneath him that was more instinct than refusal, but his hands locked onto her hips with a bruising finality. “No,” he grunted into the sweat-slick hollow of her throat, his thrusts becoming shorter, deeper, a relentless piston driving her toward the edge she both sought and feared. Her cry broke into a shuddering gasp as her climax ripped through her, a scalding flood that erupted between their pressed bodies and sprayed across their clenched faces in a salty, intimate baptism. He crushed his mouth to hers, tasting her release mixed with his own desperate groan as he emptied himself deep into her pulsing cunt, his balls tightening against her until they were utterly spent. They collapsed together, breathless and slick, the only sound their ragged breathing and the distant city hum beyond the windows.
He slid in behind her, the bed still soaked from their spent bodies, and spooned her while cradling the tight curve of her pregnant belly. Neither had enough energy to mutter more than a groggy goodnight, their limbs entangled in the damp sheets. The city's lights blurred beyond the window as her breathing slowed, deepening into the rhythms of exhausted sleep. His hand remained splayed protectively over their child, his own eyes closing against the lingering copper scent of violence that still clung to his skin. In the heavy quiet, their dreams would be separate, tangled things—hers of carbonara and safety, his of cleavers and consequence.
In the heavy quiet, their dreams would be separate, tangled things—hers of carbonara and safety, his of cleavers and consequence. The violent shiver of Dayne’s phone on the nightstand shattered the silence, its screen casting a cold, blue wash over their tangled limbs. He jolted awake, a predator’s instinct snapping his hand to the device before the second ring. Zariah murmured, half-asleep, her body curling instinctively around the pillow as the digital glare cut through the dark. “The fuck?” he rasped, thumb swiping answer, bringing the phone to his ear with a tense, “Talk to me.”
He listened, his body going rigid against Zariah’s sleeping form. The sheets were still warm from their sweat, but the voice on the phone poured ice water through his veins. “Fuck,” he said, the word a dry crack in the dark room. He knew exactly which accountant, newly vanished, had facilitated this. “Get the attorneys and I’ll be in soon!” he barked, already untangling himself from her.He dressed in the dark, the soft cotton of his t-shirt catching on the drying streaks of her release still tacky on his skin. Zariah’s sleepy murmur of “What’s wrong?” hung in the air, unanswered as he pressed a kiss to her temple that tasted of salt and regret. “Business, baby,” was all he offered, the lie smooth and hollow as he slipped from the room, leaving the scent of sex and violence behind.
A few weeks later, Dayne was finishing wrapping up his conversation with Special Agent Jacks, a man who made his intentions clear that he was interested in Moretti in more ways than one. “I assure you, if I hear anything from Matthew, I’ll inform the department, Mr. Jacks,” Dayne said, his voice flat, as the agent’s handshake lasted longer than necessary, making Dayne want to punch him in the face for the audacity.
Jacks released his grip slowly, his thumb brushing a deliberate stroke across Dayne's knuckles before letting go. "The department appreciates your cooperation, Mr. Moretti," Jacks said, his gaze lingering a touch too long on Dayne's mouth. He slid a plain business card across the polished desk, the crisp white stock stark against the dark wood. "I've added my direct line." Dayne’s fingers didn’t move to take it, his entire body coiled with the effort of not snapping the agent's wrist. "If you need anything," Jacks added, the words dropping into the tense quiet like a stone, "I'm here."
Dayne smiled, a cold, sharp slash of teeth that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re both two very dominant men,” he said, his voice dropping to a conversational murmur edged with steel, “so you’re definitely not my type.” He leaned back, the polished wood of his desk creaking under his shift in weight. “Now, all due respect,” he finished, the politeness a venomous veneer, “please get the fuck out.” Jacks laughed, a short, hollow sound of mock surrender as he raised his hands in a gesture of defeat, and Dayne buzzed for his secretary to show him out.
Jacks' lingering cologne, a cheap synthetic musk, soured in the air long after the elevator doors swallowed him. Dayne stared at the agent's card on his desk, his thumbprint a violent smudge across the printed numbers, but his attention was already fracturing. A ripple of muted murmurs passed through the open bullpen outside his glass office wall. His gaze snapped up just as Zariah strode past his door, a streak of crimson in the sterile white hallway. The two-piece red blazer and skirt fit her like a second skin, the white camisole beneath a stark contrast, but the fabric strained across her full breasts, the middle button of the blazer left undone out of necessity. Her eyes, dark and glassy with unshed tears, flicked toward his office for a fractured second before she pushed into the women’s restroom without breaking stride. He knew that look, the same shattered defiance she’d worn in the butcher’s room. His phone was already in his hand, fingers moving: My private suite. 5 minutes.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, too cheerful for the weight in the air. Zariah stepped into the suite's foyer, the pristine silence amplifying the hitch in her breath. Her face was streaked with dried tears, the careful makeup from her meeting smudged into shadows beneath her eyes. The red blazer was gone, draped over her arm, and the white camisole was untucked, wrinkled from where she’d gripped it. She looked shattered, hollowed out in a way he hadn't seen since the butcher's room.
Dayne assessed her and approached, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. She looked down at the crumpled blazer in her hands, and he lifted her chin with two fingers, his touch grounding. “What’s wrong, Zee?”
“I couldn’t button it,” she whispered, the words frayed at the edges. “Over my belly, my… these.” She gestured helplessly at her swollen breasts, her eyes glistening with fresh humiliation. “Everyone was staring at me in that boardroom,” she continued, her voice cracking, “and I just realized how fucking fat I’ve gotten.”
Dayne was silent for a moment, pondering the cruel divergence between how pregnant women saw themselves and the devastating reality he witnessed: her body, lush and ripening with his child. He loved watching her swell with his seed, her huge, heavy breasts and the plumper curve of her ass that worked his cock so perfectly, her lips always juicier, more inviting. But she felt she looked bad.
“Zee, baby,” he said, his voice a low rasp as he took the blazer from her and dropped it to the floor. His hands slid under the damp camisole, his palms skimming the heated skin of her rounded belly, then up to cradle the full, aching weight of her breasts. “You have no idea what you look like to me,” he growled, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, feeling them pebble instantly through the thin fabric.
He pulled the soaked camisole over her head, tossing it aside to reveal her completely bare, her skin flushed and her breath catching. “You look like a fucking feast,” he said, his voice dark with wanting as he backed her toward the large, low sofa. “You look like everything I almost lost.” His mouth descended on one taut nipple, sucking it deep, his tongue circling the hard peak until she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair. “You look like mine.”
He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock, already thick and straining against his briefs. “Turn around,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument, and she obeyed, bending over the back of the sofa, her plump ass presented to him. He didn’t enter her yet; instead, he gripped his shaft and slapped the heavy head against her soaked slit, the sound wet and sharp in the quiet room. “This fat,” he grunted, delivering another slap that made her jolt, “this beautiful, greedy cunt is all because of me.” He guided himself to her entrance, the broad tip pressing insistently against her. “And I’m gonna worship every fucking inch of it.”
He pushed into her with a single, deep thrust that stretched her open, her cry muffled by the sofa cushions. His hands gripped the generous swell of her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he set a relentless, pounding rhythm. “Is this what you think they saw?” he growled, each drive of his hips slamming her forward, the lewd, wet slap of skin echoing off the suite’s high ceilings. “A fat woman?” He leaned over her, his mouth at her ear. “They saw a goddamn miracle. My miracle.”
His pace grew brutal, punishing, a physical erasure of her doubts. “You take this cock so deep now,” he rasped, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, aimed perfectly. “This perfect, fat ass bouncing on me.” She was whimpering, her own hand sliding between her legs to circle her clit, and he watched, mesmerized, as her body convulsed around him. Her orgasm clamped down on his cock like a fist, a pulsing, milking tightness that ripped a guttural roar from his throat. He fucked her through it, his own release following in hot, spurting jets that flooded her depths, his hips stuttering against her ass as he emptied himself completely.
He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, their harsh breathing the only sound. Then, gently, he pulled out, turning her to face him. Her eyes were wide, vulnerable. “Don’t you ever,” he said, his voice raw and quiet, “say that about yourself again.” He traced the curve of her belly with a trembling hand. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” A single tear tracked through her smudged makeup, and he caught it with his thumb. Below them, the city glittered, indifferent, but here, in the wreckage of her blazer and his release, something fractured began to mend.