Bloody Nose (Brock Rumlow/Self Insert) One-Shot!
WORDCOUNT: 7807
TRIGGERS: Revenge, heartbreak, drinking, strong language, smut (tons of smut)
HAPPY READING!
"Seriously, Nat! You could've given me a heads-up that he was coming," I exclaim with an exasperated sigh, downing the drink my best friend hands me in a single gulp. Normally, a Long Island Iced Tea is my go-to favorite. But at this moment, I can't even savor it, thanks to the bitter aftertaste Jack's name leaves behind. Ashes, dust, and something else—something foul that I can't quite identify.
Natasha, my closest friend, glances at me and then shrugs. "We've been partying together for years, Talia. It's like an unspoken agreement that he's going to show up," she tells me.
Of course, I know she's right. Our little crew has been together since we started partying back in our mid-teens. Over time, it grew to include girlfriends, boyfriends, and the occasional cool people we met at festivals and other places where we indulged in too much alcohol, made questionable choices, and gathered a treasure trove of unforgettable memories.
"I thought you were aware," Nat continues, passing me another drink.
Memories, oh God, the memories. Not that my relationship with Jack ever progressed beyond a two-week status change on Facebook, filled with a lot of sex whenever we managed to meet up; due to his hectic work schedule and my studies, our time together revolved mostly around alcohol and intimacy on weekends. Yet, we both declared our relationship status as ‘in a relationship with’ on Facebook. And for a 22-year-old like me, that felt significant, an official declaration that meant something. At least it did to me.
Naturally, Jack would show up tonight. I just kind of hoped he would keep his distance; since the party was at Nat's place, he surely knew I would be there. After he dumped me via text two weeks ago, I had wished he would come to terms with his lack of decency and steer clear of me. But no. Jack could never resist the lure of a good drink.
As Nat slips away into the kitchen, I pull out my phone, unlock the messages, and scroll through to find the exchanged texts between Jack and me. It's been two weeks since we last communicated, and he's fallen down several spots on my list. Even my study group members have overtaken him.
I realize it's foolish, and I shouldn't linger on this. I should have erased his messages, his photos, his contact number, and I probably ought to remove him from my Facebook too.
I'm not entirely sure why I haven't done that yet. But the desire to avoid being childish, resentful, or bitter ranks high among my reasons. There are subtler ways to express those feelings. More refined methods that don't involve the blatant act of deleting someone from my ever-expanding Facebook friend list.
Honestly, Facebook friend lists are ridiculous. I barely know half the people on there. And the other half? Well, I either don't want to know them or I regret having known them at all. Most of them are just there because we’ve appeared in photos together, shared some moments, and had a few wild nights. It's all so pointless.
The final message from Jack strikes me like a blow to the stomach each time;
'I don't think this is going to work.'
I can't quite grasp why I keep revisiting it. Perhaps I crave the hurt, believing that the more I endure it, the quicker it will fade. Just as futile as my collection of friends on Facebook.
"If you dare to read those texts again, I'm tossing your phone into the toilet," Nat yells from the kitchen. She understands me far too well, far, far too well.
"No, you won't," I respond, attempting to maintain a calm tone, yet my eyes are already brimming with tears, and my voice quivers. Why do I always stumble upon these disasters? Why can't I, just once, find someone who genuinely cares for me? Someone who takes pride in being with me? Am I truly unworthy of authentic love?
Jack's final message flashes before my eyes, and I feel a tear escape, tracing a path down the curve of my nose. I sniff. Fuck him. FUCK HIM!
"Why are you putting yourself through this?" Nat's voice calls out from above me. Her hands are waving in the air, and I'm not entirely sure what she's trying to express with her flailing arms; but it's clear she thinks I should erase, eliminate, and step back into the joyful side of life.
"It's already bad enough that he dumped me through a damn text," I say, pressing the lock screen button on my phone while lifting my gaze to Nat. "But now I have to see him all night!" I go on, trying to convey to Nat that regardless of how much I avoid those messages, the evening will still feel like a total nightmare for me.
Nat offers me another Long Island Iced Tea, gripping the glass as I attempt to take it from her.
"I’m not sure if I should keep serving you drinks," she says, raising an eyebrow and giving me that serious best friend look as she releases the glass. "But since I’m a good friend, I’ll do it anyway," she adds with a playful smirk.
"Oh, come on," I exclaim. "I can handle my alcohol," I say, fully aware of my history in that area. It’s just that tonight, I honestly don’t care.
“No you can't,” Nat laughs. “But neither can I, so I'm not gonna lecture you about it,” she adds; aware of the fact that I know her history with alcohol as well.
I draw in a shaky breath, trying to push my tears back.
"Talia," Nat exhales softly, placing her hand on my shoulder, providing whatever small solace she can. "He's not worth it," she adds.
"It's just..." I begin, inhaling deeply once more. "I'm not sure if I'm over him yet," I admit. Because I'm not. I haven't seen him since the weekend before he sent that message. So how could I possibly know how I'd feel when I see him again?
"I don't even know if I was ever..." I exhale, searching for the right way to express whether my relationship with Jack was genuine love or merely a fleeting romance, as we both sought comfort for a time. "Under him," I finally say, fully aware that it sounds foolish.
"Alright, I'm going to interrupt you right there," Nat asserts, directing her index finger at me. "Because if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that you were definitely under him, multiple times," she goes on, managing to bring a smile to my face.
It feels wonderful to smile, to realize that I can still find joy. Perhaps it wasn't Jack at all; perhaps it was me, the one who restrained myself, longing for something that never truly existed.
"Yelena's back in town," Nat informs me as she vanishes into the kitchen once more. "She's bringing along some colleagues from work," she adds. "Maybe you should consider making a move on one of them?" she suggests. "Make Jack feel a bit jealous," she says, peeking her head through the gap between the living room and the kitchen.
"As if he would actually be jealous," I mumble, my voice just loud enough for Nat to hear.
"Even if he doesn't, you'll still have some fun. Look at it that way," she presses on. "You're in desperate need some good dick, so find someone who can flip your switches," Nat's tone is lighthearted, but I can tell she's completely serious.
"Like anyone would desire me...," I kept murmuring, fully aware that Nat, with her keen ears, caught every word. "I'm damaged goods," I added. To say I felt sorry for myself was an understatement, and I also felt quite childish and foolish.
Nat's head pops back into view. "Well, it's either that or singing 'Kumbaya' every single day," she quips with a cheeky smile. "And honestly, I don't know which is worse," she goes on. "Personally, I'd opt for the switches; we might as well find some joy in our damage," she wraps up.
True, so very true, but at this moment, given how I felt, I wasn't even sure if my switches were functioning. Yet, there was a kernel of truth in every word Nat shared with me.
"And I don't believe God really cares about us having sex," Nat continues from the kitchen. "I mean, why would he place a God-spot within us if we weren't meant to explore it?" she inquires.
"The what spot?" I chuckle.
Nat had her unique way of explaining things, which I considered one of her finest traits.
"It's called the G-spot for a reason, darling," she shouts before we both burst into laughter.
The party is still in its early hours when I begin to realize that this might not have been the best choice. I feel a mix of anxiety and slight inebriation, which is definitely not an ideal pairing.
Jack has barely acknowledged my presence, aside from a brief nod when he first walked into Nat's living room. Most likely because he was aware that Nat would unleash her fury if he didn't play nice.
Describing my feelings for him is challenging. It wasn't quite love or heartbreak; it felt more like a void of some sort. Not due to his absence, but rather from the image of him I had constructed in my mind. An image of a guy who never really existed. Coupled with a sense of frustration towards myself for having created such an illusion.
"Hey, are you alright?" Nat settles beside me, her soothing voice easing my tension a little. It’s comforting to know she’s by my side.
I steal a quick look at Jack; he’s engrossed in a discussion with a group of people. He doesn’t even glance my way. That alone makes me feel small and unimportant. The sensation of being used washes over me, causing my fists to tighten in frustration.
"Ehh," is the only sound I can manage to produce; I’m trying to hold back my tears.
"Alright, you’re going to assist me in the kitchen. I’m about to pop some pizza in the oven," Nat says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the kitchen.
It felt like a relief to escape the living room, away from Jack and the reality that the guy I had been intimate with for a while now treated me as if I were invisible. Was that how he perceived me? As nothing? Trash? I realized I might never receive a genuine answer to those questions, yet they lingered. Gnawing, clawing; like an itch I couldn’t scratch, no matter how desperately I wished to.
The mechanical motions of placing pizzas in the oven, retrieving them, and slicing them; it helps to calm my nerves a little. And during those brief moments with Nat in the kitchen, preparing meals, ensuring everyone is satisfied and content; it aids in pushing the memories of Jack further back in my thoughts.
Just as I was about to exit the kitchen with yet another pizza, I almost bumped into a guy.
"Oh, excuse me, excuse me," he said, glancing around. "I was just getting a drink," he added.
I quickly gestured towards the fridge before heading back into the living room with the pizza.
When I stepped back into the kitchen, Nat playfully nudged me in the ribs.
"What about that guy?" she asked, subtly gesturing her head towards the man I had almost collided with.
I glanced at the guy, then turned my gaze back to Nat.
"I thought you mentioned I needed some good Dick?" I replied, looking at the guy once more.
He's undeniably attractive, but his youthful attitude does nothing for what Nat called ‘my switches’.
"He could be good," Nat insisted. "You should never judge a book by its cover," she added.
"He's not a book, Nat," I countered. "He's a kid," I went on. "He probably still depends on his mother," I finished.
Alright, maybe that wasn't the kindest thing to say. But I was feeling hurt, and I didn't want to sleep with just anyone. Regardless of whether Jack would feel jealous or not; I wanted to dive deep. Find a hunk, and hope he desired me, at least for one night.
"Is there anyone here you fancy?" Nat inquires, her tone revealing that she already suspects my response.
"Jack," I answer, my gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding the disapproving look Nat shoots my way.
"Oh my God," Nat exclaims in exasperation. "You're hopeless," she adds, this time with a teasing lilt.
"The sex was good," I attempt to defend my position, even though I realize I've already lost the argument.
"Then we just need to find you someone who's an upgrade," she tells me, but her words are interrupted by the sound of her doorbell. "That's Yelena and her crew," she beams.
Yelena was Nat's older sister, living the high life in L.A. after achieving fame as a costume designer for a hit TV show a few years back. She was well-connected, knowing all the right people, including some incredibly attractive actors, models, and other designers. She was the reason Nat could afford this spacious three-bedroom apartment.
"Go sit over there," Nat directs, gesturing towards the couch, her tone leaving no room for debate. "And when the next guy sits next to you, you make your move. Deal?" Her voice is so resolute that I can only respond with a simple ‘Yes’.
I can hear a ruckus at the door, footsteps echoing, many of them. Yelena's voice is singing praises for what Nat has accomplished with the place. And a multitude of other voices, both male and female.
It was always a delight to see who Yelena would bring along during her visits. Although I had no interest in working in the fast-paced world of Hollywood, it was beneficial to have connections. However, tonight, I was seeking a different type of connection. And if I understood Nat as well as I believed I did, she had already arranged everything for me. All I seemingly needed to do was go with the flow.
As the entourage steps into the living room, I deliberately choose to avoid making eye contact with them. Even though Nat was well aware of my preferences in men, almost as intimately as she knew her own back pocket, she had stumbled a few times during our friendship. This choice to avert my gaze was a precautionary measure; I didn't want to know who he was, until that one guy Nat had clearly deemed the ideal match for me sat down.
While Nat could guard secrets like Fort Knox, subtlety was not her forte, and I had caught on to her scheme the moment she shot me that knowing smirk when Yelena pressed the doorbell.
"Talia," Yelena's voice calls out. "You look incredible," she adds. "No, no, please don't rise," she says. "Stay seated, I have some authentic French Champagne, would you like some?" Her tone is slightly elevated, and I can't help but think it's intentional, aimed at catching Jack's attention. Honestly, I was unsure whether that was a positive or negative thing. "You can sit there," Yelena directs someone, and then I feel a shift in the couch beside me. "I'll return shortly with the Champagne, it's fantastic, believe me," she assures, before her heels click away towards the kitchen.
Slowly, I shift my gaze to the individual who has just taken a seat beside me. I start from the ground up. Those shoes are nice, clearly expensive; I can tell just by the way his feet are positioned that his legs are spread wide apart. That's a promising sign, I think to myself. My eyes travel upward, taking in the stonewashed jeans that fit him perfectly, complete with a few rips. Instantly, I think, model. He definitely has that model vibe.
A white shirt clings snugly to his abs, revealing just the right amount of muscle. It makes me gulp. What on earth was Nat thinking, pairing me with someone like him? He’s way out of my league, far too good for me.
As I look higher, I notice shoulders so broad that I could almost believe they were about to burst out of his shirt. The sight of his veiny upper arms makes my heart race, not just once, but multiple times. Just being next to this guy makes me feel strangely special.
As I move further along, I come across a jawline that takes my breath away, and the dark, rugged facial hair signals that Nat truly excelled with this one.
I hesitate to lift my gaze any higher, yet I feel entranced, my body acting on its own accord. OH.MY.GOD. The eyes that lock onto mine are a warm hazel brown, inviting and friendly. A subtle smile plays on his lips.
"Uh," I manage to utter, again completely beyond my control.
The man reaches out his hand to me, but before I can grasp it, Yelena returns with an entire bottle of her pricey Champagne and two flutes.
"I see you two are getting to know each other," she chirps. "I'll just set this down here," she adds, placing the bottle and flutes on the table. "Brock, be nice," she instructs the man before stepping back to Nat at the kitchen entrance. I watched her go as Brock, now identified as his name, started pouring the luxurious drink into our flutes.
Nat gives me a double thumbs up, her smile so wide that I half-expect her to morph into the Joker from the Batman films.
"So..," I say as he hands me a flute. "Brock, huh?" That's all I can manage to get out. This guy is so flawless that I feel like I need a script, as if I'm in a film, yet I can't recall any of my lines.
"Uh, yeah. Brock Rumlow. And you are?" He grins at me before taking a sip from his flute.
"Talia Stokes," I say, introducing myself. At least I remembered my name.
He hums in acknowledgment. "European," he observes. "English, right?" He goes on.
"By heritage, yes," I respond. No one has ever figured that out just from my name. "But I was born and raised here in the States," I add.
"You ever been?" His voice holds a hint of curiosity, which piques my interest.
"Uh, yeah. We usually went every summer when I was growing up," I answer, surprised by his interest in me. I feel like I should be the one asking him questions. With his looks and knowledge of other continents, he must be far more fascinating than I could ever hope to be.
"So..." he elongates the question. "How do you know Yelena?" he inquires.
"Oh, um," I begin. How can I share the tale without making it too lengthy? "It's quite a story," I eventually respond.
"We've got time," he nonchalantly answers, resting his arm over the back of the couch, just behind me.
Good grief.
"I'm really close friends with her younger sister," I finally get out. Even though his arm doesn't touch me at all, I can still feel the heat emanating from him.
"Oh, wow!" he grins. "That was quite the lengthy tale," he adds with a playful smirk.
It makes me blush and chuckle.
"I... I need to admit something," he beams at me.
"Oh, alright," I respond. What else could I say? I don't really know him, so it can't be anything too serious.
"I sort of figured you'd be here," he says with a shy smile. "Yelena mentioned you might need a little help," he leans in closer as he speaks, as if we're sharing a significant secret.
"So... are we just pretending?" I blurt out, not thinking at all. Damn you, Talia, I chastise myself. Just perfect. How foolish can one be?
"I wouldn't say that," he grins, leaning closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Is that the guy?"
Without a second thought, or rather, the more accurate term would be without any thought at all, I lifted my eyes and locked onto two intense green orbs, glaring at me as if I were the embodiment of evil, the harbinger of doom. It was pure loathing, unmistakable hatred.
Quickly averting my gaze, I muttered a simple "mmmhm,"
"I need to speak with you privately," he suddenly declares, rising to his feet, seizing his flute and the bottle, then taking my hand in his grip.
I barely had a moment to snatch my flute before he led me through the crowd, past Jack.
My heart thunders like a drum in my chest, and I feel as though I might faint. It certainly doesn't help when he casually remarks, "Enjoy your night, mate," as we brush by Jack.
Not that I could voice any complaints. I craved revenge, a subtle kind of revenge, one that didn’t involve anything overt, like violence or unfriending someone on Facebook. I got exactly what I desired; I just didn’t anticipate it unfolding in this manner.
Brock shuts the door, pressing his back against it. "Damn it," he exclaims. "I thought he was going to shoot fire from his eyes," he gasped. "What did you do to him?" he inquires.
I gently set my flute down on a bedside table before turning around. "I have no idea…," I nearly whispered. "Cared about him?" I half stated, half questioned.
"Good grief," he exhales again, cautiously stepping closer to me. "So you didn't drain his bank account, swipe his Lamborghini, and wreck his mansion?" He continued, a playful grin lighting up his face.
"Nah, not at all," I chuckled. "He's not wealthy, drives a beat-up Mazda, and lives with his dad… so…," I went on, genuinely laughing now.
"Ah, I see now," he remarks casually. "He's really missing out," he adds, taking another step toward me.
"Is that so?" I asked, nervously nibbling on my lower lip.
If he weren't so incredibly attractive, I might have understood what he was hinting at. But... I... It was hard for me to believe that something like this could actually occur.
"Naturally, I can't guarantee a hundred percent," he goes on, his voice relaxed, showing no signs of anxiety. "Since I haven't kissed you yet, but..." he allows the thought to trail off, stepping closer to me once more.
"You... um... You want to kiss me?" I stammer. My heart feels like it's about to leap out of my throat, and I'm lightheaded and shaky.
"Mmmhm," he whispers, bridging the final gap between us. "May I?" he inquires.
His gaze fixed on mine, radiating warmth and reassurance. Such lovely eyes.
"Mhhmm," I reply with a nod, as coherent words escape me.
His tongue flicks out, gliding over his lips as he closes the gap between us. I let out a noticeable swallow, which brings a smile to his face.
"Don't worry, beautiful," he murmurs, "I'll take care of you," he exhales; before he gently presses his lips to mine in a tender, lingering kiss.
When he finally pulls back, I feel as if I'm swaying gently, my eyes still shut, lips slightly parted; I'm utterly entranced, completely detached from reality.
"Definitely missing out," he breathes. His warm breath dances over my moist lips.
"Kiss me again," I manage to half moan, half whisper.
Wow, I've never experienced a kiss like that before. And then his voice, uttering those words. I don't think anyone has ever called me beautiful before. Am I beautiful?
I'm jolted from my thoughts when his lips find mine once more, and he pushes me with just the right amount of pressure against the door, creating a loud bang that surely echoes out into the living room. A bang that Jack must have heard.
With a purposeful slowness, he tenderly maneuvered my arms, securing them above my head with one hand while the other glided up my stomach, pausing just below my breasts.
"Ungh," I exhaled after taking a deep breath.
He let out a rough chuckle, a playful smile flickering across his lips before he leaned closer, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss against my neck.
"Damn, beautiful, your skin is so delicious," he murmured into my flesh.
"Ngshh," I moaned. His warm breath against my skin sent tingles racing down my spine, tightening my belly and causing my toes to curl.
"I yearn to savor every part of you," he whispers against my heated skin.
His unoccupied hand slips beneath my shirt, gently ascending along my abdomen.
"Your skin is so soft, Beautiful" he breathes before capturing my lips once more. His tongue dances with mine, probing every inch of it.
Goodness, I feel as if I'm on fire. My desire pooling between my thighs, my body longing for him as if my very existence hinged on our connection.
With intentional tenderness, he releases my arms, smoothly trailing his hand down one of them, before taking both of my hands and positioning my palms on his abdomen, beneath his shirt.
I allow them to sense him, applying gentle pressure as I explore his upper body, tracing every contour of his impressive six-pack, every breath he takes. I absorb it all. His skin radiates warmth, excitement, soft yet firm, embodying the essence of a real man. I could caress his skin like this for eternity. It feels like paradise, and I never want to depart.
He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear as he playfully nibbles on my lobe.
It ignites a desire in me to tear off his clothes and plead for him to take me right then and there. Yet, there's something thrilling about allowing him to take charge. To let him lead the way. To let him reveal his desires and show me how he wants it.
This is a fresh experience for me, and I yearn to fully embrace it.
"I desire you," he whispers softly into my ear. "Every. Single. Part. Of. You," he continues.
His words send shivers racing down my spine, making my legs tremble.
"Then claim me," I hear myself respond. My mind and body seem to act almost independently of my will. It's me, yet not entirely. Not the version of me I recognize, not the one from earlier that evening. It's as if I'm undergoing a transformation, reshaped into a more self-assured incarnation of myself. And I relish every moment of it.
His hands smoothly travel up my sides, lifting my shirt as they ascend higher.
I raise my arms, helping him remove my shirt. Oh my God. Is this truly happening?
A deep sound rumbles from his throat, almost like a growl, as his eyes fixate on my breasts.
"Damn, Beautiful," he exhales.
His fingertips glide from my neck, gently moving down to my cleavage, tenderly stroking my skin.
"You're incredibly sexy," he whispers, leaning closer, capturing my lips once more. "It's making it difficult to..." he murmurs against my mouth.
I'm lost, completely undone, utterly at his mercy. His will is my command. I find myself unable to resist.
"Hold back," he insists.
"Theh..," I attempt. But the words are lodged in my throat.
My entire body is ignited. Every nerve is in a frenzy, sending jolts of electricity in every direction. My mind has completely shut down; words, logic, consequences—it's all vanished.
"Relax, Beautiful," he softly says.
Adjusting our positions, he places me in front of him, my back against him, one of his hands gliding over my breasts before he gently grips my throat.
"I'll take real good care of you," he breathes into my ear.
"Ungh," I moan, resting my head against his shoulder, astonished that I can even remain standing.
"A beautiful woman like you," he whispers, his voice laced with an edge of desire that heightens my arousal. "Deserves...," he continues in that deep, husky tone.
Then, without me even noticing, he undoes the clip on my bra and removes it.
"Proper treatment," his whispers now blended with a low growl as his free hand caresses one of my breasts.
"Mmmm," I moan, urging him to continue.
His hand around my throat twitches as he glides his other hand over my exposed nipples.
My legs quiver, and I sense they're on the verge of giving way completely.
"Damn, girl. I need to feel you," he groans as he gently shifts towards the bed. "Lie down," he murmurs, releasing my throat.
I obey without a moment's hesitation. One, because my legs are about to collapse beneath me, and two, because whether I can articulate it or not; I crave his touch as well.
I gaze up at him as he reaches behind his back, pulls off his shirt, and discards it. My eyes roam over his stunning upper body. Holy hell; he looks like someone straight out of a film. And I'm about to experience it all against me.
He slowly crawls over me, showering my stomach with playful kisses. My hands instinctively reach for him, feeling his powerful biceps beneath my palms. It's like being in a dream, a cinematic moment. It feels unreal, yet here I am; feeling his lips envelop my nipple, hearing his ragged breaths and low growls as he explores my body.
"Oh, ahh," I gasp as he plants another kiss on my neck.
His right hand smoothly travels down my side, slipping into my skirt to cup my sex over my underwear.
A soft chuckle escapes his lips. "So wet," he murmurs, pressing his palm against my pussy, creating delightful friction that makes me thrust my hips against his hand.
"Shhh, Beautiful," he whispers softly in my ear. "Just relax..." He breathes, adjusting our positions again; now I'm next to him, my back against him. "I've got you," he moans into my ear.
One of his hands softly encircles my throat once more, while the other slips beneath my underwear.
"Oh, damn, Beautiful. You're alluring all over," he groans.
"Nghskk," I gasp as his slick finger glides over my clit. My back arches as he continues to caress it, slowly, with intentional gentleness.
"Yes, Beautiful. You like that," he exhales.
Damn, the air is trapped in my throat as I struggle to stifle my moans. Even though Nat's apartment is spacious and opulent, the walls are thin.
"No need to hold back, Beautiful," he tells me. "Everyone is aware of what's happening here anyway," he adds.
"And I want to hear you enjoy it," he whispers seductively in my ear.
"FUCK!" I'm taken aback by the volume of my own voice when he slides two of his fingers inside me.
"Yes, just like that," he growls against my cheek as he begins to thrust his fingers inside me.
"Ahh, ahhh, ahhh," my urgent moans escalate as he introduces another finger, skillfully kneading that secret, elusive spot deep within. The one that no man has ever discovered before. The one Nat referred to as the God-spot.
Now, experiencing its true effects, I can completely grasp my best friend's analogy to the divine.
Desperate to find something to anchor me, I raise my arms, clutching the back of his head, gripping his hair as if my life depends on it.
"Yeah," he exhales. "Feel that," he goes on. His fingers relentlessly drive me towards the heights of an orgasmic experience. "Do you want to come?" He whispers the words into my ear, intensifying the already surging euphoria.
"Fuck! Yes, God, yes," I feel as if I'm shouting. It's beyond mere moans now; it's something entirely different. Something otherworldly.
"Come for me," he nearly growls into my ear, then he gently tightens his grip around my throat.
The orgasm hits me like a colossal truck barreling down a hill, throwing me off balance, stealing the breath from my lungs, and whirling my head as if I were on a wild amusement park ride. I utterly surrender control of every muscle in my body, including those I never knew existed. My frantic, almost howling moans echo against the walls.
He breathes heavily into my ear, causing my back to arch to the point of discomfort. Goodness, I feel like I'm on the brink of death, or at least it seems that way. An ecstasy-filled demise that will surely elevate me to paradise.
When I start to make some form of sense about what's around me again, he gently removes his fingers, letting his palm rest on my pussy for a minute or two, waiting for me to fully return to the present moment.
“Oh God,” I breathe out. “That .. that was amazing,” I add.
“It's Brock,” he chuckles softly, “but thanks for the compliment,” he adds with a teasing smile.
I can't help but laugh softly at his remark. His calm confidence is contagious. Making me feel more important, and liked.
I turned around, truly absorbing the sight of him. Next to his broad shoulders, my petite frame appeared nearly invisible. His upper body is astonishingly impressive, and his eyes are always inviting, comforting, and warm.
Yet, I find myself compelled to lower my gaze. He still wears his jeans, and his Louis Vuitton belt accentuates his V-shaped abdomen.
Once more, I swallow audibly.
A playful smile spreads across his lips, and his pink tongue flicks out, moistening them just a bit.
Then he takes hold of my wrist, gently guiding my hand down his body; finally, he places it on his crotch.
Damn, I can sense that he's well-endowed, even through his jeans. I thought Jack was impressive, but this guy, he’s on another level.
“Want to meet him?” he asks, with a playful tone.
“Wha…,” I stammer, his question completely catching me off guard.
I truly can’t comprehend how he manages to deliver all his lines with such a straight face.
"I apologize," he says with a shy smile. "That was foolish," he adds, attempting to sound nonchalant, though a trace of embarrassment lingers in his voice. "It's just a phrase I use," he mentions, his gaze darting away from mine for just a moment. Just a moment, but it’s enough for me to finally grasp that this man is indeed human. Not a figment of my imagination, but a genuine human being.
"Yes," I reply, realizing too late the implications of my words. "I... I mean no," I correct myself, trying to reel back my response.
The bewildered expression on his face indicated that my attempt was in vain.
"It's not foolish," I whisper, striving to maintain my focus on him, resisting the urge to glance at the other 'him' he intended to introduce me to.
"I... I mean," I frantically search for the appropriate words. "I would love to..." I attempt, genuinely trying to articulate my thoughts. "meet him..." I finally stutter out. Biting my lower lip, I glance at him through my lashes, praying I haven't jeopardized anything.
He props himself up a bit, resting against the bedframe, his tongue flicking out once more, sensually tracing his lips.
"Damn, Beautiful," he exhales. "You're driving me wild with that sweet, innocent expression of yours," he remarks, a playful grin spreading across his face.
Then, he leans in and seizes my lips in a passionate kiss.
My hands explore his torso, as if I'm eager to touch, outline, and memorize every curve before he fades away.
Gently, I allow my lips to glide down to his neck, pressing kisses against the tender skin near his pulse. A smile spreads across my face as I feel his breath catch at my caress.
It fills me with a peculiar sense of importance that I, just ordinary me, can evoke such emotions in a man like him.
With a surge of newfound confidence, I carry on with my ministrations across his abdomen, sensing the way his muscles tighten under my touch. It feels absolutely incredible, empowering me, making me feel invincible. It instills in me a sense of worthiness for something greater, something more significant.
"Damn, Beautiful!" he moans, shifting slightly beneath me. "Keep going," he exhales as his hands glide over my shoulders, and he begins to slowly unfasten his belt.
The unmistakable sound of the clip indicates that he is dressed in high-end clothing, but in that moment, it matters little to me. All I can focus on is the fact that he is about to expose himself to me, and I find myself torn between curiosity and intimidation.
He releases a satisfied groan as he raises his hips just a bit, shedding the final remnants of his clothing.
I sense his hand wrapping around himself, gently caressing as another pleased groan slips from his mouth.
The intimidation envelops me completely; it halts me in my steps, leaving me nearly paralyzed.
"Continue," he exhales. "You're nearly...," he moans. "There," he concludes.
I must press on; I need to witness this. My curiosity eclipses any intimidation I might experience.
I let my lips glide over his abdomen, while my hands explore his sides, pausing at his hips. Damn, his body feels so powerful and large beneath my delicate fingers.
"Wow," I exhaled as my gaze finally fell upon his cock. His hand rested around it, stroking it slowly.
It's undeniably large, the largest I've ever encountered. His hand is substantial, and even with it wrapped around, there's still plenty to captivate my eyes.
"Do you like what you see?" he exhales, the inflection in his voice revealing that he already anticipates my response.
"Mmmhhmm," I reply, nibbling on my lower lip, imagining what it would be like to touch it, to taste it.
I've never felt this aroused before; I've never desired someone this intensely.
As if entranced, I lean in, gradually allowing my tongue to trace over his tip.
"Oh, fuck, Beautiful," he moans, his cock pulsating against my tongue. "Take it," he exhales, relinquishing control and leaving everything in my hands.
I could've sworn my hands were shaking as I grabbed him. Closing my fist around his impressive girth. I give him a couple of strokes, before I close my lips around his tip, swirling my tongue around; teasing him with all I have.
"Ahh, damn it," he groans while tugging at my hair.
His ability to merge gentleness with authority is truly remarkable. He makes it abundantly clear that he holds the reins, yet simultaneously assures me that I'm cherished in a manner unlike anyone has ever shown me before.
"Ah, damn, Beautiful," he breathes out. "Don't stop," he commands as his grip on my hair tightens just a bit.
He only needs to ask once. I could remain in this state indefinitely if it were feasible. Sensing the way his cock pulsed with every slight movement I made.
Igniting a desire within me that I had never felt before.
And I couldn't help but wonder. Would any other man ever manage to turn me on like this?
"Come here," he suddenly breathes out, his voice heavy with longing. "I want you, Beautiful," he adds.
As I begin to shift slowly, he tenderly grips my shoulders, and in a single fluid motion; I find myself on my back with him positioned above me.
"Ungh," I let out a moan as I sense his body pressed against mine, and his pulsating cock nestled between my legs.
He hums in approval, offering me a charming smile.
When he slides his hand to lubricate his cock, I shut my eyes. Wanting to fully immerse myself in this moment, I consciously decide to turn off one of my senses.
"Ah, ah," he breathes, and from the tone of his voice, I can almost envision the smile playing on his lips. "I want to gaze into your eyes as I enter you," he whispers.
O Ho.Ly Fuck. Those words ignite something within me, an unfamiliar sensation surges through my veins. It sends shivers of anticipation coursing through my entire body.
“Yeah, that's it,” he breathes softly as I gradually open my eyes to lock onto his.
His gaze is filled with a ravenous hunger, a deep-seated need. I can only guess that my own eyes reflect that same intensity.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs as he positions himself at my entrance.
I can feel my eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he enters me. He notices it too, because before I know it, his lips brush against mine, and he seductively whispers, “Come back to me, Beautiful,”
I find myself unable to think. My mind goes completely blank as he enters me, slowly and tantalizingly. He stretches me, fills me completely; the sensation is nothing short of divine. It's all my mind can handle right now. The sensation of him, that incredible feeling of his body pressed against mine, his breath on my skin, the way he moves within me, causing my blood to gradually heat up.
"Gissh," I exhale a sound that feels foreign to me. This sensation is so intense that it completely overwhelms my entire being. My sole focus is on him, deep within me.
"You alright, Beautiful?" he murmurs. His gaze is locked onto me, as if I am the most exquisite being in existence. "Is it too much?" he asks further.
"It's... just perfect," I finally manage to respond.
He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my lips. "Good," he whispers. "That's wonderful," he adds.
His warm breath against my damp lips sends tingles down my neck, cascading down my spine, causing my toes to curl in delight.
He softly takes my arms, securing them in a gentle yet firm hold on either side of my head.
Then he begins to move, with rhythmic, assertive motions that awaken sensations within me that I never knew were possible.
"Damn, Beautiful," he groans. "So tight," he breathes, quickening his pace just a little.
"Ahhh, mmm," I moan, unable to contain myself.
The sensation of his entire length inside me, his thrusts massaging my soft walls is simply divine.
"Nahg, fuck," I moan again, provoking a deep growl from him in response.
"Damn, Beautiful," he moans, leaning into my neck and planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss there. "It's hard to..." he breathes, struggling to complete his thought. "Hold back," he adds, tightening his grip around my wrists.
"I'm not going to break," I manage to say. Desiring him completely, every inch, every breath, and every word. I urge him on, to go deeper, harder.
He inhales deeply, and then, with a low growl resonating from his chest, he plunges into me with all his might, making me moan loudly.
"Yes, fuck, shit," he gasps, as he intensifies his thrusts with renewed vigor.
I raise my legs, wrapping them around him, craving to feel him penetrate as deeply as possible.
Then..
He strikes a spot within me that causes not just my pussy to clench around him, but my entire body to respond.
My neck arches back, granting him full access to my throat. His rhythmic breath against my sensitive skin amplifies the sensation.
"Fuck, ahh, ahh, ahh," my moans become increasingly desperate, my vocal cords stretched to their limits.
"Fuck, yes, keep doing that," he groans, "So tight," he breathes once more.
I'm on the verge of losing control, completely unraveling. My mind drifts away, entirely consumed by the overwhelming passion and euphoric sensation. I no longer even notice that I'm moaning at the top of my lungs.
My pussy spasms rhythmically around him, drawing him in with each thrust. I have no control; if my arms weren't pinned down by him, he would definitely have scratch marks on his back.
"Ah, damn it," he gasps, continuing to push deeper inside me.
This guy has some serious endurance.
I feel like I'm on the verge of blacking out, and he doesn't even seem to be close to done yet.
His lips crash against mine, muffling my moans. The kiss is raw, intense, and incredibly wet.
"Fuck, Beautiful," he groans into the kiss. "I... I'm about to cum, damn, gonna," his words spill out like a desperate request for me to take him in during his final thrusts.
I can sense his muscles going into overdrive, his grip on my wrists tightening, and his breaths becoming short, ragged, and filled with urgency.
Exquisite, divine, euphoric….
Absolutely the best thing I've ever experienced.
The morning sun is filtering through the window as I begin to stir awake.
I feel the arm beneath my head, and the other one wrapped around me.
So he stayed...
Then, I vaguely realize that I’m still in my underwear. I’m not quite sure when that happened, but it’s not uncommon for me to make multiple trips to the bathroom during the night after a party, so I let it slide.
Then....
I sense his gaze on me, even before I turn to look. Two green eyes, boring into my back.
Damn! Why didn’t he just leave?
I slowly pivot, preparing myself for whatever is next.
The expression he gives me is unmistakable, pure loathing in all its trashy splendor.
“Fucking slut,” he hisses. Then he walks away.
It was clearly aimed at me. He hadn’t uttered a word until he knew I was aware of him.
SCREW HIM!
Screw him to the most messed up corner of screw-off land!
SCREW HIM!
Without a second thought, I leap off the bed, stomping after Jack, clad only in my underwear.
“Hey!” I shout, catching up to Jack at the kitchen door.
“Don’t you dare call me a slut!” I keep going.
I catch a glimpse of Nat peering out from her bedroom in my peripheral vision. But I’m unfazed. The entire world could witness this, and I wouldn’t care. I was done with all the crap Jack had put me through.
Done with him.
His cheesy grin says it all.
I despise him. I LOATHE him!
I raise my right hand, fist clenched tight.
Then I throw a punch at him.
I aimed for his jaw, I truly did.
But foolish Jack chose to shift his head. Likely to dodge the blow he sensed was headed his way. But that's not the main issue.
He moved, so the blame lies with him.
Honestly, it does.
I feel my fist connect with something.
Then I hear a scream.
Jack's scream.
Not exactly the most masculine, I must say.
I glance up at him. My gaze is probably not very forgiving.
He's gripping his nose. Blood oozing out between his fingers.
“You Bitch,” he manages to spit at me.
Unmoved.
I'm unfazed.
Done with him.
Completely, utterly finished.
I shattered his nose.
I don't think I could have made it any clearer than that.
@nekoannie-chan @here4thefanfics @late-to-the-party-81 @ladysif-writes-chaos
