“Ah, perhaps you are a good girl after all. Let’s see about that. No coming, gara. Not until I command it.”
With one last tug, he let the chain go and reached between us to stroke over my pussy.
“So hot, so wet. Put your hands behind your head. Yes, like that. Now keep them there.”
I intertwined my fingers behind my neck, my elbows sticking out. This position also had my breasts thrust outward. He seemed to enjoy having me bound, but on his lap as I was, there was nothing to use to tie me. Forcing me to hold this position was like having invisible bonds and I clenched my inner walls at the thought. I could do nothing but what Tark bid.
He played with me for a bit, his fingers slipping over my folds, dipping inside and stroking—oh, God!—my G spot. He didn’t linger, but moved to circle my clit, tormenting me by not actually touching it, only building me up and up until I was about to come before pulling his hand away. Again and again he did that. I moved my hips into his hand, but every time I did so, he stopped. Then started again. Groaning, I remained still, briefly, until I couldn’t hold back any longer. My fingers started to slip, but with one arch of his dark brow, I tightened them against my neck. It was a cycle of complete torture and the look on Tark’s face—smug satisfaction—let me know his dominance was complete.
Every cell in my body screamed for release, and that was just from his skilled hands. I would surely die once he actually fucked me.
“Master, please,” I begged. My skin was slick with sweat, my throat dry, my nipples tight little pebbles, and my clit throbbed. Every part of my pussy ached for Tark’s cock.
Placing his hands back on my hips, he murmured, “Take out my cock.”
Lowering my hands, I eagerly did as he bid, sliding back on his thighs so I could reach between us and open his pants. Did all men from Trion not wear underwear or was it just him? His cock sprang free, tall and erect and pre-cum seeped from the tip. My eyes widened at the sight.
While I’d felt his cock as he’d fucked me the day before, I hadn’t seen it. I’d never seen one so big. It extended thick and a dark, ruddy red from a nest of dark hair. Bulging veins pulsed up the long length. A broad, flared crown capped it. That had fit inside of me?
I grasped the base of it firmly—my hand didn’t even close about it—and slid up, using my thumb to swipe away his visible sign of eagerness. I licked my lips, wondering what he tasted like. Salty? Musky? Surely pure, unadulterated male.
“Keep looking at me that way and I’ll come in your mouth, not your pussy.” He voice was deep and rough, as if his control was barely leashed. “Put me inside you.”
His hands lifted me so that I hovered over him, placing me exactly where he wanted me. Still gripping his cock, I lowered myself so that the head pushed against my entrance. As I continued to lower myself further, he began to stretch me open, to fill me more and more.
I put my hands on his shoulders for balance and gripped him tightly once I sat upon his lap completely. He was fully seated within me, the flared head nudging the entrance to my womb. I felt filled, stretched, and completely claimed. The heat and sting in my body only accentuated that.
I sighed, reveling in the feel, for I felt… complete. My pussy clenched around him, little shockwaves of pleasure rolled through me. The stimspheres he’d inserted only made me more sensitive, more aware of every place he stroked.
Tark’s eyes fell closed and his teeth ground together. “Fark,” he hissed, just before he gripped my hips and began raising and lowering me.
I tried to shift, to rub my clit against him every time he lowered me down, but his hold was too secure. All I could do was feel as he rocked his hips up in counterpoint to him lowering me.
My breasts bounced and made the chain shift, my nipples tingling and tight, the weight adding to the sensations coursing through my veins, but it was not enough to get me to come. How did this man know how to get me so close to the edge and not push me over? It had never been this intense before. Our skin was slick with sweat, our breathing rough and ragged. Wet sounds of fucking filled the space and I could hear myself cry out in pleasure, only increased by the painful counterpoint of my sore bottom rubbing against his thighs. The rest of the outpost was just outside the flimsy walls and could no doubt hear—and know—what we were doing. I didn’t care. I only cared about being with Tark and letting him rule my body. No wonder I’d never come for another man.
“We will come together, gara,” he growled and I swear I felt him grow even bigger inside of me.
He reached between us and flicked over my clit, all the time his dark eyes held mine.
I couldn’t keep them open, but his voice stirred me. “No, look at me. I want to watch your face as you come, as you take my seed.”
My inner walls clenched down at his words, and I came. My eyes widened, almost in surprise that I could feel this way, that this man could give it to me. I cried out, the sound escaping my lips. I couldn’t hold back. I couldn’t hold anything back. As I arched my back and ground down on his thighs, riding out the pleasure, I watched Tark as he clenched his jaw. His cheeks flushed and he growled. The tendons in his neck tightened and I felt his cock pulse, his seed filling me. I knew my pussy was gripping him like a fist and almost pulling the cum from his body, as if it needed it, craved it.
Spent, I slumped forward, my head resting against Tark’s shoulder, our chests pressed together. My pussy continued to clench and squeeze in little aftershocks and I had no desire to move. The way Tark stroked his big hand up and down my slick back, neither did he.
I didn’t know how long we remained like this, but Tark stood, keeping himself deeply embedded as he walked across the tent and laid me down on my back as he loomed over me. He held his weight off of me with his forearm. A thick lock of hair fell over his forehead and I swiped it back, although it just fell back in place.
“Evelyn Day, you please me.”
“Eva,” I replied.
He frowned.
“I go by Eva.” It was important to me that he called me by my real name, not the false one given by the prosecutors for my secret identity. That wasn’t me. Nothing about Evelyn Day, the murderer, was me.
“Eva,” he repeated, as if trying out the name. “What is it that you do on Earth?”
He frowned even more, the furrow in his brow deepening. “Why do you roll your eyes at me?”