Icky's Fucked.

He walks over to you, frown deepening, standing imposingly in your space. He says nothing, rage burning bright, and so you continue. 

“I mean it, I love you,” you speak softly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, biting the corner of your lip. Oh, there it is. There’s the look you wanted from him, II lifting his chin as his eyes flare with desire. “Do you love me, still, or have I pissed you off too much?” 

He takes a breath, finger reaching to run along your collarbone. “Yes, I do love you. I’m going to fuck like I don’t, though.” 

That finger hooks beneath your necklace, tugging your forward, his lips mere centimetres from yours. His breath flutters hot against your face, still viewing you through dangerous, narrowed eyes. You don’t dare blink, caught in a gaze that doesn’t falter, his hand releasing the tug on your necklace to press flat to your chest, a strong shove sending you back against the wall.  

The space closes in around you, II stepping forward, the energy between you both crackling fiercely with lingering, fiery hostility. “Going to take this,” he speaks, hand pushing between your legs, clutching hard, “and fucking wreck it. You’re getting hate fucked, because I might love the hell out of you, but babe, you have no idea how fucking angry I am with you right now.” 

His mouth lands upon yours then, a hungry, teeth-bumping clash that’s more about claiming what’s his than showing you any affection, his hand moving to clasp your throat while the other rubs against your apex. The firm press of his fingers sends little darts of pleasure whizzing through you, moaning against his tongue, the feel of his wide chest pushing you harder against the wall making your heart jolt. 

You like it when he’s rough with you, when he lets the deviant in him run wild, evidenced further by his hand steadily clutching tighter at your neck. You trust him, the man knows how to work breath play flawlessly, but it’s that glint in his eye that reveals a little of him wants you to be scared that sends a thrilling shiver through you.  

You’re wearing a long skirt, and he takes it with him in a swift tug as he suddenly moves to crouch, mouth dropping hot kisses over your belly, lifting your leg to rest it upon the chest of drawers to your left. His tongue swipes through your folds, and it sends your blood thick and syrupy, your head thudding back against the wall.  

You didn’t expect him to offer this, be all too concerned about giving you his mouth, but he’s nothing if not full of surprises. The way he licks at you, though, it’s more for him, his own greed to taste you, tongue pressing in hard, repetitive swipes that have you mewling softly.  

“Mm, you got this wet from me shouting at you?” he speaks, voice thick with amusement as much as it is arousal. “There’s something kind of sick about that. Maybe I should raise my voice more often.” 

The second statement is more an out loud musing, his tongue returning to you, dragging hot and tight over your clit. Your hips buck, and his strong hands hold you firm, make you take it, take the maddening pleasure of every focused lick right at the crest of your sex.  

You’re trickling for him, hot like honey, and he laps you up with thirst, pleasure flaying out over your nerves as he closes his mouth upon your bundle and sucks hard. 

“Hahh!” you wail, looking down at the blue-grey stare focused on you, his cheeks hollowing as he continues, feeling like he’s sucking the goddamned soul from you. Your leg is close to buckling, but he senses it, standing, grasping your arm and hauling you to the bed.  

You’re pushed down, II yanking your hips up, pulling his grey sweats down just enough to free his cock, arrowing into you deep. There’s nothing steady about the way he plunges back and forth, the sound of skin smacking together filling the room as your still half-dressed bodies fuse together.  

The sound of it is lewd, dirty, your wetness so thick it coats his cock and dampens his balls, his hand sliding up your back and grasping your neck, forcing your face to the duvet beneath. 

“Down.”  

That one word sends a whirl of dark lust coiling through you like a viper, the fact it was delivered through gritted teeth, pounding into your soft tenderness so hard, tears pool in your eyes. He holds you there, folded uncomfortably, his fuck gaining further barbarous momentum, anger pulsing, driving his hips.  

A cry leaves your open mouth, broken and jagged, his hand spanking your bum so hard that another follows. Your skin burns with the tingle, another spank, and you know it’s pure punishment.  

“Not so fucking content on calling me a mouthy cunt now, are you, hmm?” 

“N-ahhh, fuck! No!” 

He chuckles, spanking you again. “Yeah, you’re predictable if nothing else. I can always put you in your fucking place with my dick.”  

The clutch of his hand tightens further, and he batters your insides with merciless strokes, almost like he’s attempting to take root in you. Breathing cusses over and over like a benediction, he holds you there, forces you to take it, his cock opening you up, remaking you around him.  

You cry out, breathless, and he smiles, spanking you again, his handprints marking your soft flesh. Little pulses tremble through your core, the riptide breaking over you so suddenly, it’s almost frightening, your body jerking in spasm as the gush of your release further glosses his cock.  

He doesn’t let up, though, punishing you with every thrust, his grunts so low and gravelled he sounds more animal than man. His cock continues to scrape your walls, the friction perfect, every bottom out knocking against the deepest parts of you until he has your pleasure gathering once again like a storm. 

The lightning flashes in sudden, bright flickers, the base of your spine alight, the shunt of his heavily tattooed body continuously driving into you like a piston sending you there as your slick velvet grips and grips. 

This time, it feels more like being dragged beneath something heavy, like a surging sea tugging you down into its depths, his groans suddenly changing in pitch to almost helpless as his staccato thrusts slow and he empties himself in the heavenly fluttering of your cunt. 

“Fuck,” he pants, releasing his grip on your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  

You collapse beneath him, feeling him pull from you with a slippery pop, the orgasm that touched the tip of his fingers and shot right back through him again ebbing away steadily as he slumps atop your body, head rested in the small of your back.  

Eventually, the veil of any residual anger drifts away, his lips pressing kisses against your spine, hands stroking soft little circles at the sides of your waist.  

He turns you beneath him, slotting himself between your legs, and incredibly you feel he’s still hard as he slips back into the soft, slightly sore wet of you.  

Smiling, he kisses the tip of your nose. “Gonna fuck you like I love you now.” 

Well, if he insists.