#reships

The motel room was suffocatingly hot, the thin curtains drawn tight, the only light coming from the amber glow of the candle Chris had set on the nightstand. Its flame bent and flickered, waiting to be turned into something more than just ambiance. He stood over you like a wall of muscle and intent, shirt discarded, veins roped in his forearms as he pinned you down to the creaking mattress with nothing but his weight and his stare.

“Open,” he growled, voice a gravelled order you couldn’t disobey.

Your lips parted and his thick fingers pushed past them, two knuckles deep on the first thrust, his calloused skin scraping your tongue. His eyes never left yours as he shoved deeper, thumb pressing under your jaw until your mouth stretched around the intrusion.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Chris muttered, watching your cheeks hollow as you sucked. “Get ‘em nice and wet.” His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise when you gagged softly around his fingers, the sound making him groan low in his chest. He pumped them in and out of your mouth like he would his cock, using you, stretching you, saliva slicking your chin.

When he finally pulled them free with a wet pop, a strand of spit clung from your lips to his hand. He smeared it across your cheek, then down to your throat, marking you with it.

“You’ll take everything I give you tonight,” he said, lighting catching in his eyes, “and you’ll thank me for it.”

The candle was in his hand before you could breathe, wax pooling at the top. He held it above your chest, tilting slowly until a single drop fell—scalding heat splattering over your skin.

“Ahhhhnn—fuck!” you cried out, back arching, the sting sharp then giving way to a throbbing pleasure that pulsed through your nipples, your stomach, down between your thighs.

Chris chuckled darkly, leaning close enough that his breath grazed your ear. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Hurts good.”

Another drop fell, then another, then a stream—hot rivulets trailing down your stomach, dripping into the valley of your breasts, solidifying against sweat-slick flesh. You writhed beneath him, crying out with each hiss of wax, every nerve lit with fire.

His fingers were back in your mouth instantly, stuffing your cries into gagged moans. He worked them against your tongue as molten lines dripped over your ribs, down your navel, dangerously close to your clit. You whimpered around his hand, hips bucking helplessly, tears pricking your lashes as the burn made your cunt clench empty.

Chris pulled his hand away just long enough to shove his spit-slick fingers down between your legs, pressing them against your soaked folds.

“Goddamn—already dripping for me,” he groaned, circling your clit before thrusting two fingers inside, the same ones you’d been sucking raw moments earlier. The stretch was brutal, his pace relentless, fucking you open while the last drops of wax hardened against your stomach.

Your screams were muffled by his mouth now, Chris devouring every sound in a punishing kiss, his tongue dominating yours while his fingers pistoned in and out of your cunt, rough and wet and merciless.

“You taste like sin,” he growled against your lips, curling his fingers just right until your thighs shook violently. His other hand smeared the cooling wax across your skin, grinding it against your nerves to make you whimper louder.

The coil snapped suddenly, violently, your orgasm tearing you apart with a scream swallowed into his kiss, your body shuddering under him, slick soaking his hand. Chris didn’t stop, didn’t slow, fucking you through the climax, growling into your mouth as though dragging every last drop of pleasure out of you was his mission.

When you finally collapsed, trembling, spent, he licked his fingers clean with a wolfish grin before shoving them back into your mouth.