In a manner of minutes, his eyes have gone from predator-like to cub-like. Now, he is back on the prowl. A wildness is in his gaze — pupils blown for reasons not having anything to do with drugs.
Even if I am better than most prey at masking my fears, he still pounces — takes what the food chain dictates is due to him. In one, rough, abrupt move he spins me around, palm slamming into the center of my back and pinning my chest to the top of the vanity.
The shinck of his buckle echoes through the room soon followed by the metallic click of his zipper before his torso falls flat against the length of my back. My body picks up right where it left off with the dirty talk from Bae a moment ago, throbbing to life. When the added pressure of his weight digs the vanity into my thighs and mound, my pussy clenches and pulse trips. Needy and aching, I grind against the blunt edge, breath hitching.
Coty traces his nose along the length of my neck and breathes luring words against my heated skin. “Are you thirsty, little siren?” There is most certainly a demand in the growly inquiry, but he refuses me permission to answer yet, drowning my response with a teasing touch. Starting at the base of my spine, Coty drags his knuckles down the line of my g-string until his wide hand relinquishes my desperate contact with the table, wedging between to cup my sex. A dark, breathy scoff hits my neck hot and hard. “Not even a fucking table deserves to take what is mine.” His thumb traces the edge of thin fabric, tip dipping just below the material to tease my untouched flesh beneath. “Who does this sensitive, pink clit belong to?”
Spreading my legs further, I writhe against him, sinking from need.
His fingers spear into my hair and twist, yanking my head back so far that my body bows under the pressure. “Answer me,” he growls.
I surface long enough to gasp out for a lifeline. “Y-you.”
His thumb replaces the thin material against my clit, and he slowly and firmly circles. “Good girl.”
My body trembles, and a bubbly whine echoes through the empty room.
Coty slips a finger under the bottommost part of the crotch of the material and slides between my cheeks, collecting the wetness from my pussy en route to his mark. Pad of his finger pressing flat and hard against that tight entrance, he rumbles in my ear, teeth pinching the lobe. “Does this belong to me?”
Ass clenching in anticipation, I choke out an urgent, “Yes.”
A deep, gravely groan hums from his throat as his finger broaches, and my muscles constrict like a vice around it. The hand gripping my hair drops to my shoulder and down to wedge between my flattened breast and the hard wood. Thumb twirling against my clit, finger stretching my ass with rhythmic drives, he squeezes my breast. “Do these belong to me?”
A pained moan hums out of me. “Mm-hmm.”
“Not good enough.” His aggressive squeeze softens and fingers pause their lower ownership, drawing a desperate whimper from my vocal cords. “Try again.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasp out manically.
Coty clamps my nipple and twists his finger deep inside my ass, fissuring my body in two with the euphoric pleasure-pain combination.
A heartbeat from exploding, my entire body tenses. In the next moment, he releases my nipple, and his fingers disappear, leaving me empty.
Eyes flitting upward to the mirror, they lock with his feral, full-moon orbs. Coty tsks, lips curled. “Who gets to decide when you come?” he asks, sliding his long, ready cock against my tailbone and thrusting me against the vanity.
Fire erupts along every single one of my nerves. My chest heaves, eyes water, and hands shake. “P-please,” I beg.
“Who!?” he bellows.
“Y-you!”
Coty adjusts his alignment, placing the broad head of his cock with a stiff pressure against my aching entrance. “This sweet, dripping cunt is mine, too, right?”
“Yes.” The admission is trembly and weak but honest all the same.
In complete juxtaposition to Coty, my breathing is now erratic and loud. Coty holds his breath as he takes his time for the first glide, relishing in the feel of my pussy gloving him.
The length of him buries deep, stretching me tight, his held breath releasing with a slow, appreciative groan. “Remember who truly owns you. Who you belonged to first, and who you will always belong to.”
My hand shoots up to the vanity mirror and slams against the glass, the print of its shape imprinting on the fog of our mingled breaths as he rams inside me the first time. My fingers curl against the cool, damp glass, seeking a handhold as he slams into me again, his belt buckle clanking against the wood in time with the moans he procures.
“Mine,” he asserts, pulling out and slamming inside me with a grunt while scraping his teeth over my neck and soothing the sting with a wet lave of his tongue.
Our eyes meet in the mirror again, his animalistic-silver clashing into my blown brandy-brown. Hand snaking around to cover the width of my neck, he breathes his final demand, hot and desperate against my ear. “Sing for me, little siren.”
Together, we both invest, turning into starving savages. We devour the moment. Satiating ourselves as quickly as possible, spiraling over the edge in record timing. “Coyote. Ohhh, yessss. Yes. Yes. Yes.” The bright vanity lights turn double, triple, as my body vibrates seemingly on an entirely different plane of existence. Relishing in the ache of his brutality. The sickness of his desperation. The insanity of a need that goes so damn much deeper than this moment.
He bottoms out and pours into me with a deep-throated growl of release, cum so plentiful it seeps out between us, coating our thighs, trying to stick us together for the eternity Coty is so frantic for.