Chapter 8: The Bond Unleashed
The air between them went thick and wrong. The ice cream sat forgotten in its bowl, a pale puddle creeping across the granite, and neither of them looked at it. Bianca's pulse hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum she could not quiet. The bond, that invisible leash Tomas had pulled taut all evening, had snapped loose inside her chest, and what it released was not affection. It was hunger.
She smelled him before she understood what she was smelling. Old books. Ink. Whiskey. His cologne, familiar from the wedding, but underneath it something else. Something alive. Sweat forming at his brow, sharp and metallic, and beneath that a deeper musk, a scent of heat and need that made her mouth water. She had never smelled anything like it. It was as if his body had opened itself to her and poured every secret desire into the air between them.
Tomas inhaled and his nostrils flared. Jasmine. Blood. Vanilla. Her skin, her hair, the warm female scent of her arousal flooding from between her thighs. He could smell her cunt, wet and ready, and the taste of her was already ghosting across his tongue. His cock strained against his trousers, thick and painful, and the hunger in him was older than his centuries, older than his control.
"Bianca," he said, and her name came out ragged, almost a snarl.
"Tomas," she answered, and her voice cracked.
They moved at the same instant. There was no thought in it, no strategy, no careful calculation. His hands closed in her dreads and yanked her close, and her nails raked down his neck as she bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He growled against her mouth, a low animal sound, and kissed her like he wanted to eat her alive.
Clothes tore. Her silk camisole split down the middle when he grabbed the neckline, and she ripped his linen shirt open, buttons scattering across the marble floor like teeth. His belt hit the tile with a metallic clatter. She clawed at his chest, leaving welts, and he grabbed her ass with both hands and lifted her onto the countertop, shoving dishes aside with a reckless sweep of his arm.
"Spread your legs," he snarled.
"Make me."
He shoved her thighs apart, hard enough that her knees hit the cold marble, and dropped to his knees before her. Her trousers were already undone, her panties torn aside. He stared at her pussy, glistening and swollen, her juices slicking her thighs, and he made a sound that was almost a prayer. Then he buried his face in her.
She choked on a gasp. His tongue swept through her folds, flat and broad, and the taste of her flooded his mouth, jasmine and salt and pure woman. He lapped at her like a man dying of thirst, devouring her, his tongue circling her clit until she bucked against his face. She fisted her hands in his hair and yanked his mouth harder into her cunt.
"That's it," she gasped. "Eat me, you bastard. Eat your wife."
He groaned against her and the vibration shot through her like lightning. He sucked her clit into his mouth and she cried out, her head falling back, her hips grinding against his face. He ate her without mercy, without pause, drinking every drop of her until his face was slick with her and his cock was screaming against his trousers, straining so hard he thought he would tear through the fabric.
She pulled at his hair, frantic. "Fuck, stop. Stop."
He didn't stop. He speared his tongue inside her and fucked her with it, and she shattered against his mouth, her thighs clamping around his head as she came with a ragged scream. He licked her through it, lapping up every last shudder, until she went limp and pushed at his shoulders.
"My turn."
She shoved him back and dropped to her knees on the cold marble. Her fingers worked his trousers open and his cock sprang free, thick and hard and leaking. The head was dark with blood, beads of precum glistening at the slit. She wrapped her fist around the base and looked up at him, her purple eyes burning.
"Watch me," she said.
She took him into her mouth.
The heat of her was a revelation. Her lips sealed around his shaft and she swallowed him to the root, her throat stretching around the thick head of him, and Tomas threw his head back with a roar that echoed off the steel and marble. His hips bucked and she took him deeper, her fingers digging into his ass, pulling him in. Her throat worked around him as she swallowed, greedy and ravenous.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck, Bianca."
She sucked him like she hated him and loved him all at once, her head bobbing, her spit slicking his cock until he was glistening. She pulled off just enough to drag her tongue around the head, then drove him back between her lips, deep, deeper, until her nose pressed against his skin and she swallowed again. The bond sent her urgency through him, her hunger, and he grabbed her dreads and fucked her mouth in slow, brutal strokes.
"Take it," he growled. "Take all of it."
She moaned around him and the vibration undid him. His hips snapped forward and he came with a grunt that tore out of him like a roar, hot and bitter flooding her throat. She swallowed him greedily, not a drop wasted, and licked his cock clean until he shuddered and pulled her to her feet.
They fell on each other again. He bent her over the counter and drove into her from behind, his cock slamming into her wet cunt with a sound that was wet and obscene. She screamed, a filthy thing, and shoved back against him, taking him deeper.
"Harder," she snarled. "Fucking harder."
He grabbed her hips and pounded into her, the marble cold against her cheek, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. The bond between them blazed like a live wire, her pleasure flooding him, his hunger pouring into her, and they fed on each other, wild and desperate.
They fucked across the kitchen. He spun her around and lifted her onto the island, then onto the counter, leaving her slick and dripping on every surface. She clawed his back and he bit her shoulder hard enough to bruise. She rode him on a chair, then bent over a table. He fucked her standing, her legs wrapped around his waist, and carried her down the hall like that, never breaking the rhythm, her cunt milking him with every step.
The bedroom door slammed open. He threw her onto the bed and she bounced, reaching for him, and he came over her like a storm. He fucked her on her back, on her stomach, on her knees, his cock relentless, her pussy swollen and raw and sopping around him. He bit her neck and she raked his chest with her nails hard enough to draw blood. She came again and again and he kept going, driven past reason, and when she finally flipped him onto his back and straddled him, riding him with a fury that made his eyes roll back, he was lost.
"Come in me," she commanded, grinding down hard. "Come in your wife's cunt."
He grabbed her hips and slammed up into her, and she came with a scream that tore her throat. He came inside her a heartbeat later, buried to the hilt, his seed flooding her, and they collapsed together in a tangle of sweat and limbs.
They lay there, breath ragged, bodies slick, the bond finally quiet between them. Bianca's cheek rested on his chest, and she could feel him, not his heartbeat, but the heat of him, slow and satisfied. She had never been so utterly spent in her life. He had never felt so empty and full at once.
Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.