Malora tried to imagine what else he could do to her—but her brain was dopamine dazed and came up blank.
He withdrew and his touch became soothing again, which she was pretty sure she didn't want at all. 'We can stop at any time. You've already given me more than—'
'No.' Malora flattened her forearms to the sofa and shoved her hips up. She wasn't done pleasing him. 'Take it all. Take everything.'
For a moment, he was so still she thought he was going to say no or something. But then he shifted his grip from her neck, laying his palm flat across her shoulders in a way that felt both ominous and reassuring. And when he hit her this time, it hurt in such a real way that she heard herself say 'Ow' in a ridiculously surprised tone of voice.
It would have been funny— pain hurts, no shit Sherlock—but it was like his hand had knocked everything out of her except the capacity to respond. A few strikes later and even 'ow' was gone. Instead, these breathy cries were being jolted out of her. Sort of like being expertly fucked. But not. But yes.
And it was relentless.
His hand coming down on her to the rhythm of his choosing. This pain that was both in her control and out of it. Malora knew with a faith she thought she'd put aside when she no longer believed in fairy tales that if she told him to stop—if she really meant it—he would. And, sometimes, she almost wanted to. Not so much because what was happening was unbearable but because it was simply overwhelming. The pure physicality of it. The way he had her all pinned down and splayed out. The sweat and tears—oh wow, she was actually crying—stinging her lips. The sound of each strike, loud and clear and undeniable. A question demanding an answer given in suffering and submission.
And, God, did she give it. Gasping and sobbing and writhing under his hands. Begging incoherently for him to. . .she didn't know what she wanted, only that she wanted to beg for the simple pleasure of begging. Knowing it would make no difference. That she could scream and cry and struggle and he'd use her however he wanted. And, for some reason, in her slutty little brain that wasn't bad at all. It was awesome.
Liberating and sexy and scary and exactly what Malora had longed for. It wasn't like she imagined—it was a lot messier and her reactions were more complicated—but it was way better. And weirdly, something she never would have imagined: how peaceful it would be, right at the heart of all that tumult. How safe she would feel. How cherished. It made her arch into the blows, not welcoming the pain so much as everything it brought with it: adrenaline and intimacy and this deep sense of acceptance. Of being beyond strength or weakness or shame. And trusting it was okay to be there. That Master T was with her.
That he had her.
Malora was so blissfully lost that it took her a moment or two to realize it was over. That the roaring in her ears was her own heartbeat. Her knees slid out from under her and she flopped into Titan's lap like a fish.
'Ohmigod.'
Malora didn't know how long she laid there. Minutes, hours, ages of the world, while the sun tarnished and the stars fell.
Wow she was floaty.
When her breathing had steadied, and the sweat dried on her back, Titan drew her up and gathered her to him. He arranged Malora so she was straddling him, her weight distributed away from her arse, which was a relief because even the air moving against it felt rough. But he could have knotted her into a pretzel for all she was capable of resisting right then. Malora was mercury between his hands.
Well, for the most part. Her clit very much the opposite of mercury. Granite or marble or iron. Something really fucking hard and engorged. Malora blinked down at herself, slightly bewildered at the sight she presented: delicate and shiny-slick with juices, pulsing pleadingly from between her spread-wide thighs.
Titan caught her gently by the chin and made her look at him. Maybe it was her state of befuddlement or the way the light was. . .doing something, but his eyes looked wet.
'Was I okay?' Malora asked, voice coming out all hoarse and abused.
For a moment, they were just gazing at each other, intense and awkward at the same time. If anything, he seemed shocked—a flush of arousal staining those flawlessly sculpted cheekbones of his.
'You. . .you're perfect. Absolutely perfect. God, you have no idea.'
He leaned in and kissed her gently, almost reverently.
Malora fully intended to be graceful about it but for some reason his lips on hers triggered a cry havoc reaction and she. . .attacked him. Turned what she was sure could have been a beautiful moment into a tongue-tangling, teeth-clashing mess.
But he let her. He let her eat his face like a clueless teenager until everything was hot and slick and their mouths tasted coppery with too much kissing. The world was still kind of distant—out of focus even, a little bit photoshopped—but Titan was everything real.
Malora clung to him, dug her fingers into him and her teeth, and he held her tight and didn't flinch or try to calm her. Malora realized she was making desperate, throaty little mewls, almost as if he was spanking her again, but he took those too, giving her in return these soft, dazed gasps. It was her, in the end, who broke the kiss. Any more and she would probably have died of ever-increasing lust: a moth hurling herself repeatedly into Titan's, er, flame. She collapsed against him, panting. He was also breathing hard, his heart
thundering under hers. . And his mouth looked all ravaged, which gave Malora a filthy, possessive thrill.
She had a claim on him too, no matter how cold he acted towards her at times. He may not realize it yet, but she did. It was heady and arousing.
'Y'know,' Malora said, 'I'm really super horny right now.'
He laughed and, while making someone laugh had never been high on her sexual agenda before, just then it was absolutely right. He sounded so. . .happy. And also a little wicked, his eyes alight with that touch of cruelty she found inexpressibly enticing.
He urged Malora upright on her knees and pushed a hand between their bodies, fumbling with his belt and his zipper. An arch and a shimmy and, a moment later, his cock—his ever-gorgeous, flatteringly hard cock—was free.
He tangled his free hand in her hair and yanked her head up, drawing an excited gasp out of her.
'You want it,' he told her, steadying himself by the base, 'you take it.'
'Yes, I want it, Master T.'
He was not. . .unchallenging, but Malora was a hundred percent on the case. Honestly, she was so turned on, she could probably have fucked a cucumber.
Malora eased herself into a good position, adjusted her angle, and sank down upon him—for about two seconds, and then she almost hit the ceiling, howling.
'Fuckfuckfuck!'
Her arse had lit up like Rudolph's nose.
How the fuck had she. . .forgotten? Yet somehow, in the haze of greedy kissing, the hot ache of spanking had become background and she had.
Though from Titan's glittery smirk he absolutely hadn't.
Malora blinked the tears out of her eyes. 'You bastard.'
He smiled and kissed her nose. If she wasn't so horny, Malora would have wondered why he did that.
She tried it a bunch of ways, getting freshly sweaty and whimpery the more she struggled, but it was like one of the punishments in Tartarus: this perfect prize of a cock she couldn't fuck. Malora was driving herself wild with frustration, and God knows how he was managing to stay so calm, but she could have done with about three more hands.
Malora simply couldn't brace herself and angle herself and guide his cock past the inferno he'd made of her arse all at the same time. She wanted him so much—she was fucking dying from lack of him inside her—but she just didn't know how.
Eventually, she surrendered. Rested her brow against his and gave a broken little sob. 'I can't. Please.'
His arms came around her. 'Let me help you.'
'Wait.' Malora jerked upright. 'Was that an option?'
'You didn't ask.'
Malora wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, so she sort of did both and smacked him in the arm. 'You bastard.'
'You already called me that.'
'I'm out of my mind with lust. I'm sorry my insults aren't living up to your exacting standards. But, yes. Please. For the love of God. Please help me.'
His hands slid down her back and pulled her lips apart. It still hurt but for some reason it hurt differently when he did it. And Malora shuddered with a kind of weird hurty pleasure and the vague knowledge that her pussy was on full display to incalculable miles of sky.
Not that it was looking.
But she still felt pretty exposed.
And she loved it.
'So'— Malora nipped at the side of his jaw, squirming between his hands—'did it turn you on? Watching me totally failing to fuck you?'
His eyes flashed. 'It turned me on watching you try.'
'You'd better not be trying to teach me a lesson right now.'
He gave her a mean squeeze, starbursts of sensation flaring beneath his fingers, and she squeaked.
'I will save your punishments for later, little hellcat.' His words promised wicked, wicked retribution later, which made her shudder. 'The key to success, Malora, is the realization that failure is a temporary condition.'
'What's that supposed to mea—'
Before Malora could finish, he pulled her down upon his cock and the rest of her question vanished into a strangled shriek. Malora flailed wildly, clutching at his shoulders, shock and excitement and a splash of panic blending into a unique and special cocktail. But he only breached her. He didn't force her. He left the descent under her control—that sweet-harsh glide that burned so very beautifully.
Malora took him all—took the pain and the pleasure, the stretch and the pressure, the whole gorgeous invasion of it—and he let her see. For once he let her see. The helpless flutter of his eyelashes. The creep of heat across his cheeks. The way his lips parted on a soundless groan. He looked. . .vulnerable, and a little bit wrecked, softness in his eyes along with the haze of passion.
Malora threw back her head, full of savage triumph, because she'd made this happen. And this flawless, unreachable man—with all his mysteries and his sadness and his strength—was hers.
He pressed his mouth to her throat, warm and wet, with the scrape of teeth, and Malora rode him like a rodeo cowgirl.
Yee-fucking-haw!
Malora was alive with small hurts, aches inside and out, but they felt like fireflies in her skin, barely recognizable as hurt at all. Because everything was igniting into bliss. His hands, his lips, his cock driving into her, rough and hard and fucking perfect. The noises he was making against her skin: reciprocal ecstasy shuddering out of him. And, oh, words. Fierce, tender, slightly muffled words becoming their own prayer:
'Malora, oh Malora, my Malora.'
She didn't really have breath or brain to reply but her answer was everywhere: in the pulse that beat for him and the body that yielded to him and the pain she'd borne for him.
Yours yours yours yours yours.
Sweat was slicking down Malora, gathering in the creases of her groin and behind her knees. And she was probably going to have to take up yoga or do something about her core strength because—as much as her pussy was loving the adventure—the pace was getting punishing. But then Titan gave this harsh and shattered cry, his hands dragging her down and pinning her in place, his cock so deep in her it felt practically embedded. Malora screamed, her G-spot launching its own little hallelujah chorus as Titan's teeth plunged into the bit where her neck met her shoulder.
It was the aggression that undid her—seeing him so lost to it, so utterly out of control—the final riff in her sex-rock anthem of rapture. Next thing she knew was a full-body-shaking, mind-obliterating orgasmic white-out—static snowflakes behind her eyes, every nerve she had electric—and her vagina went off like a party popper, extravagant ribbons of juices squirting between them.
When she was next capable of anything, Malora said: 'Ow ow ow ow ow.'
Because suddenly everything that had hurt in a good way was starting to hurt in a bad way. Particularly her buttocks, which was sore and sticky and throbbing
Titan, who was still trembling, gentled her before she could freak out, since the need to not be in pain had become really rather urgent but her coordination wasn't up to the task. And then he very carefully eased himself out of her.
Malora tried to stand, only to discover she was head-to-toe spaghetti. Thankfully Titan caught her before the floor did, wrapped her up in the scarily pristine cream blanket that had previously been draped over the arm of the sofa, and drew her back onto his lap, somehow managing to position Malora so she wasn't resting too much weight on her poor bum.
Malora meant to protest because she was a mess and the blanket was lovely, but it was all soft and cozy, she couldn't quite muster the will. She tucked her head under Titan's chin and he brushed his fingers against the nape of her neck, so lightly Malora thought it was an accident at first. But, no, it was a caress. One that carefully roused her sensation-battered flesh to shivers of softly tingling pleasure. If he'd been holding her less tightly she'd have arched greedily into his touch. . .and probably made a million bits of her immediately start hurting again. But he didn't let her. Just kept her safe and helpless, his kindness as ruthless as his cruelty, and the sweetness of his touch running in rivulets across her skin.
Since Malora's mouth was the only bit of her capable of movement, it opened and emitted a weird, drunken purring.
Chapter dedication: IsraaMohammed7
Thank you for reading, voting and commenting on my other books. You're amazing!!!! ❤❤❤❤
A/N:
Oh, my, gawd.
So, many emotions running wild up, up in the air.
What do you think of the vulnerability Titan showed in this chapter?
Can you guess where he is taking her to?
Don't forget to vote, share and comment❤