He moves so fast that I don’t see it coming. One second I’m leaning against his hard, wet chest, my breasts pressing against the thick muscle there, and the next, he has me up against the shower wall, his arm pressed against my throat as his green eyes bore darkly into mine.
He looks almost unhinged, crazed, his hips leaning into me and his cock pressed against my belly, my hand trapped between us now, unable to move. I don’t let go of him, but he’s holding me too tightly against the wall for me to stroke him any longer, his muscled bulk making it hard for me to breathe.
“You little whore,” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch from mine. “Little…fucking...slut.” His other hand slides down my hip, over my thigh, reaching between my legs to caress the outer folds of my soft, bare pussy. “What will I find in here, hmm? Has my little Saint learned to like being touched? Do I turn her on now?”
I force myself not to whimper when his fingers dip inside, when he traces a path from my soaked entrance all the way up to my pulsing clit. Because yes, this is turning me on. I’m hornier than I’ve ever been, flushed with the adrenaline of turning Cayde’s game back on him. Some small part of me whispers that maybe this is what he felt all along, that I’m not really any better than him if I’m aroused by taking up the gauntlet that he threw down.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, his eyes glittering. “What a fucking whore. You’re soaking wet, from what? Seeing me naked? Touching my cock? I thought you didn’t want me, little Saint. But you’re no saint. Little saints don’t have wet fucking pussies from touching cocks they say they don’t want.”
His fingers shove roughly inside of me, pumping hard once, twice, a third time as he grinds his cock into my belly. “Is this what you want? Me inside of you? You could have had it, little Saint. You could have had all of this cock. I tried to give it to you so many times, but you didn’t want it. You liked to play the shy little virgin. So what? Now that your cherry is popped, you’re going to whore yourself out to the rest of us?”
I can’t help myself. His thumb rolls over my clit as his broad fingers thrust into my sopping wet pussy, and I moan, my hips arching against his hand. I can feel the beginning flush of an orgasm, my body aching for more, crying out for it, and somehow the pressure of his arm at my throat, threatening to cut off my air, just adds to the pleasure of it.
“God, you really are a fucking slut,” Cayde breathes. “Look at you, wriggling around while I choke you and finger-fuck you. I bet you’d beg for more if you could speak.” He yanks his fingers out of me, and I cry out in protest, a small part of my brain warning me even as I do that, I’m losing my high ground, losing control of the situation.
“You want my cum? I’ll fucking give it to you.” Cayde reaches down between us, angling his hips away from me as he keeps me pinned to the wall with his thick, muscular arm. He starts to fist his cock, the head of it brushing against my stomach as he jerks himself hard and fast. I can hear the wet slap of it, feel the tensing of his body, and my body is tight with anticipation, too, even though I try to deny it. I can feel the core of my body aching, hollow, wanting him back inside of me, giving me the release I crave.
But instead, he just holds me there, his eyes screwing shut as he grits his teeth, furiously working his cock until I feel the first hot spurt of his cum hit my belly, dripping down my skin. His hips jerk, his entire body leaning into the force of his orgasm, and I feel myself clenching in response, wanting my own release that he’s denied me.
I feel him wipe the head of his cock on my stomach, and then Cayde grabs my arm, shoving open the shower door and throwing me out—quite literally, so hard that I fall onto my hands and knees on the tile.
“Crawl to the fucking door, you slut,” he snarls. “Grab your shit and crawl.”
I make a small whimpering noise, reaching for my tank top and panties, but now that I’m facing away from him, I can’t help but smile. I can feel his rage, like a palpable thing pressing against me even as I obey him and start to crawl towards the bathroom door on my now-bruised knees. But I’m not afraid of it anymore.
I’m going to push him until he breaks, until he can’t take it anymore, and I’m already on my way. He tried to stop himself from using me for his pleasure, but he couldn’t. He can’t control himself with me. And I’m going to use that to take my power back, along with his fury.
Cayde’s anger is just a weapon I can use against him, just like his lust.
A weapon that, if I can get under my control, I can point at the other men.
Until they all destroy each other.