by Celia Crown
“I can give you something else to get addicted to,” he counters with an offer that is too big, too thick, and too hot.
He slaps his thick cock on my sodden pussy, flicking the flushed head to my clit and mixing our slick together.
As intimidated as I am, my little hole clenches and flutters at the idea of having him inside me.
Reese rubs a soothing circle on the curve of my waist; the touch is wretchedly possessive and a bit too obsessed with marking me.
Helpless and at his mercy, Reese takes advantage of my weakened state and nudges the bulbous tip to the unused hole. A trembling gasp breaks through my heavy tongue as he eases the head in without warning.
It burns, and the prickling sparks linger. However far he has spread my virgin walls, it’s one of the most natural things I have done. I accept the burn and tentatively lay my hands on my chest, a protective gesture to maintain some level of control in my heart.
His massive cock is stretching my virgin cunt with malice, a subconscious attempt to take and take until I have nothing left to give.
“Please,” I slur hazily. “It hurts… please, wait.”
My hot, velvety cunt is coiling and milking the throbbing shaft that remorselessly jerks to compensate for the lack of space inside me.
“Take a breath,” he murmurs, albeit with a strangled sound.
I blink through the tears and the irritating dryness that mingles with it. I choke at another aching throb between my legs as he shifts his weight to cup my cheek. The balance in his body is absolutely unfair while I am under him and trembling with explosive sparks.
He rubs my clit as an offering of peace, asking me to forgive him for his swarming cruelty. It does not take long for the coiling muscles to slowly loosen, molding to the shape of his fat cock and sucking on the shaft with dallying spasms.
“You’re doing great,” he praises. “A very good girl…”
My butt strains and clenches; as a result, my pussy also tightens when there is even a single trace of him going deeper.
He leans down, covering me with his inked body. His lips travel to my ear and press a chaste kiss to the hairline there. I find purchase near his waist and scratch the skin with a rough snag as his cock slips further inside me.
“Just a bit more,” his deep voice rumbles. “You can do it; I know you can. You are made for me, Ezra. Your pretty cunt is made to fit my cock, don’t you think?”
I nod shakily and focus on my staggering breath as he sits haughtily in my pussy. His plush balls rest intimately on my soiled folds; my soaked hole split to the limit of extreme fullness, and sticky juices slathering our skin.
I am a filthy mess, and Reese lets me know that by grinding down on me.
He wants more, the amber of his eyes agreeing with the atrocious grin on his handsome face.
He will take more and more; it is who he really is. But that discovery does not find a place in his heart as he breathes deeply with my pussy rippling around his meaty cock.
“Good?” he whispers into my ear.
I hesitate, unsure if I am or if it is his cooing voice. From the confidence in his voice, I think I am ready for whatever he has planned now.
“I’m okay,” I grunt softly.
He pauses and kisses the crinkle on my forehead. My body softens as my stiff muscles slacken; I bathe in his attention and flex my cunt around him.
A hollow pit of anxiety goes away when he gently rocks his hips, the fleshy hardness of his shaft pulling on the tissue around my hole. I can feel the dirty sensation of the thickness spreading my deflowered cunt with senseless thrusts.
He fucks me with languid strokes while his body surrounds me with stifling heat. It is overwhelming and frightening that I have no say in any of this.
I don’t know how to tell him I need time to accommodate something as big as his cock. My tongue has thickened so much that I can hardly breathe.
My pulse kicks higher as he lifts his massive chest away from me. The lights of the city have illuminated the dark bedroom, and a vague realization hits me that it has gotten late.
Oh, no.
“Don’t think, Ezra,” he purrs as he quickens his thrusts to fuck the coherency out of me.
It is no longer the sensual rolls of his hips; it’s dirty fucking now.
He clamps his big hands on my waist and slots himself between the space right above my hips for leverage, hips pulling back for pummeling thrusts that slosh the slick inside me.
“Don’t think about anything but me,” he sneers. “I’m right here; you just need to focus on me.”
He finds my clit and roughly makes pressurized circles around it. My hips jerk and twist to meet his forceful pounding as the tip of his cock bumps the spongy spot mercilessly.
“It’s okay, I won’t be angry,” he reckons. “I want to feel your pretty pussy cum on my cock, can you do that for me?”
I want to make him happy, so I nod obediently. His praise comes in the form of an animalistic growl as the coiling knot in my stomach shatters into pieces of thrilling sparks.
Gushes of splattering juices subside, the heightened sense of everything has taken me by surprise. I’m astonished at experiencing my first orgasm, but it is the aftershocks that are excruciatingly chilling.
I can feel the pulsing vein running along his thick shaft against my spasming walls. It’s daunting to know I can feel it when I’m still dazed and sensitive after taking in his monstrous cock.
Addiction is never to be taken lightly, but I can say my pussy loves the sensation of being dominated by him.
“More, please,” I beg pathetically.
He hums and flips me with the sheer strength of his arms, leaving me breathless as my face hits the satin sheet. I gather the sheet between my fingers as an anchor for the flourishing emotions rumbling through my body. And I still must deal with the throbbing heat of my release.
His hips snap against my ass, slapping and squelching in slippery noises as he pounds into me with reckless fervor. His plush tip scrapes and hammers the same spot over and over until black dots turn into shining stars behind my eyelids.
My swollen cunt takes his heavy pounding with a feverish desire to milk him. The familiar shuddering in my stomach comes back, stronger, and more insistent as I arch my back to give him access to take more.
The noise I make when he presses his strong heartbeat onto my back is a sob; keening and raw like he timed it perfectly with his sneaky hand catching my neglected clit.
“I’ve got you, my good girl,” he growls huskily. “I’ve got you.”
What are words of comfort and stability are corrupted before they reach my stupefied mind. They become a mockery as a forceful stab triggers my second release.
Frantic rolling of my hips and spasming walls tear a hiss from his rumbling throat. The sound reaches the tip of my clit—the sopping bud he had graciously played with before pinching it vehemently between his fingers as his cock thickened.
He is trapped, swelling so big and so fast that my quivering walls are unable to compensate for the impossible snugness.
Virile seed spills inside me, the ropes of viscous cum splashing and pooling in a sullied mess of slobbering juices.
The buzzing in my ears dies down with his hot panting near my temple. But I realize the vibration did not come from either of us.
It is too systematic and noisy.
As unromantic as it sounds, the thought of work abruptly bulldozes its reality back into me.
“I—oh,” I whine softly, uncertain how I should feel.
I have a responsibility to the company, and this will risk having an infraction on my internal record where it can be added to others. I don’t want to be terminated.
On the other hand, I have Reese’s cock buried so deep inside me that cum is sliding out.
I don’t want to leave.
“It’s okay, I’m not upset,” he consoles with an easy chuckle. “I know you are stuck in the middle.”
His cock
slips out of my deflowered cunt as squelching cum gushes out of the stretched hole. He lays me on my back and lifts me, my eyes lingering on his inky chest with the mesmerizing pattern.
It is my way of avoiding the thought of leaving.
“Stay right here,” he commands while his lips meet my temple.
I watch him wrap a big hand around the sticky shaft of his cock and slip it back into his pants. He’s not ashamed of having me watch, nor does he care about the mess I’m making on his bed while more fluids saturate the expensive satin.
He turns to go and takes clothes from his closet; the hangers hold neutral-colored shirts with the black shirts forming silhouettes.
I accept my impending departure while I search for my bra and panties; garments he had removed without my brain having any recollection of it.
I slip them on and ignore the slipperiness as the elastic band snaps into place on my hips. Reese returns with a spare set of clothing, helping me into a dark brown sweater and a pair of black sweatpants that need to be rolled up at the ankles.
I tie the strings while he keeps his amber eyes on mine.
It is not a forever goodbye, but I have the bitter taste of reluctance on my tongue.
“I won’t watch you fight; I won’t cheer you on, and I won’t pray for your victory.”
My words come out jumbled, callous, and aloof as if I’m reading from a script. I guess I am; I have practiced how the words should come out.
He is disappointed when he cups my cheeks in his palms. They are hot and steady; it’s something I need him to do since I’m barely holding it together.
The battle between professionalism and emotions was a constant struggle way before he took my virginity. Things are changing, and I am changing for the better. It is just a matter of wrapping my head around it and letting it gradually settle into acceptance.
“You are going to win for yourself,” I manage to finish with a choked breath.
Then his disappointment disappears, too smooth to be normal. Reese presses a kiss to my lips and breathes my name like a lifeline he is holding onto.
I should have planned further ahead because I did not think he would accept that. I had made many arguments in my head that he is my client, and he needs to respect that.
I clear my throat sheepishly, but my confidence returns when he smiles. “If you need something to look forward to, then know that I’m yours—before and after your match.”
Reese tucks the stray hairs behind my ear and captures the senseless babbles from my voice to fill the silence.
He murmurs, possessively low and selfishly firm, “Not only will I be coming to get my clothes back, but I will also be bringing you home with me.”
Epilogue
Reese
Two Years Later
I never thought about retirement before I met Ezra.
Honestly, I did not think about much of anything when I was so focused on becoming the champion. I didn’t care about the future, and part of me was selfish and immature enough to flaunt my success in my parents’ faces.
I had a valid reason.
I have not been in contact with them for a while now; they were never going to change their minds, and I was never going to be “right” in their eyes.
I have a new family now: my wife, our baby, and my in-laws who have practically adopted me into their family.
“You know, our daughter will be too attached to you,” Ezra jokes quietly, her voice lowering to a whisper so as not to wake our daughter.
She lays on my chest with my hand keeping her tiny body from sliding off when I nap with her. Any movement jolts me awake, and I became a lighter sleeper after Ezra became pregnant.
“Is that jealousy I’m hearing?” I tease her when she leans over to kiss me.
“It is,” she agrees with her Russian accent thick from sleep.
I had fallen asleep with our daughter on the couch first, but Ezra came in later and slept with her forehead on my arm. There is still a red mark on her forehead, and it’s so adorable.
“Mom and Dad want to come over to celebrate,” she mumbles quietly.
“I didn’t forget,” I say as I chuckle.
Celebrating my win of the championship has been a running tradition for two years now. They are enthusiastic parents who want to commemorate my success.
I don’t mind; it is a nice change of pace. It is not as monotonous as one would think; it’s one night out of the whole year, and the celebration is like a family gathering.
My in-laws are busy people. But they make time to visit us, or we visit them. Whenever we have dinner at their house, I don’t leave that place without a straining stomach from all the food.
I must train like crazy the day after seeing them, but it’s a good habit because I still like to box. The bare-fist matches had started to diminish when Ezra became pregnant, but she never stops me from having a great time.
She was the one who encouraged me to continue my career, not for the money but for the passion. I did for a time, but then I semi-retired because I was more into spending time with Ezra than feeling the adrenaline in my blood.
Now, I box when time and circumstances fit my schedule. I built a gym and invested in the place so the younger generation can test their interest in boxing and give them a place to work on their skills.
“I should start making the side dishes,” she mumbles lazily. “Mom says a feast is not a feast without side dishes.”
“I thought you had plans for this afternoon?” I ask as I pause my breathing when our daughter changes position.
Her chubby little face is pushed against my chest as she drools heavily from her open mouth. Ezra’s finger gives the round cheek a small squish, and her melodic giggle brings a smile to our daughter’s lips.
“Annika was trying to convince me to take a job with her,” she grumbles with a pout. “I’m retired; I like sleeping in and spending time with everyone.”
“She’s your friend,” I mention quietly.
Ezra blushes bashfully. “She is.”
Ezra did not have anyone close enough to be called a friend when she was younger. They all scurried away when they knew she could beat their asses.
She finally found a quirky group of elites as friends, but she is particularly close to Annika.
I met her; she is an oddball, to say the least.
She also has a multibillion-dollar husband, so she can afford to be peculiar.
“Let me help you,” I offer as I slowly sit up.
Our sleeping daughter makes a gurgling noise when I use my other hand to support her. There is a crib near the living room, along with another one in the guest bedroom that has a baby monitor.
We had decided that a big house wasn’t best for us; we didn’t want our home to feel vacant. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms work perfectly fine. We are also in a safe neighborhood, so it all worked out in our favor.
As I slowly set our daughter down in the crib, I bring the stuffed animal to her side and let her tiny hand close around the toy.
“I thought you couldn’t cook,” Ezra whispers with a wince.
I can proudly admit that cooking is not my forte, but I have managed to scrape by with meals that I have made myself. If she needed proof as to how I survived, she can look at how big I have gotten just by feeding myself.
“Frozen meals have nutrition,” I point out as I catch her waist to steer her to the kitchen.
She giggles and swirls out of my arm like a princess. “Oh? I’ve never heard of that before.”
“It’s the standard living condition now,” I merely note.
“You’re not wrong,” she muses as she ties the apron around her tapered waist.
She lost the pregnancy weight in three months after our baby had been born, and I don’t think there was much of a choice.
When her boss reached out to us to hold her spot in the company, we didn’t know what to do with the information. She was and still is an exemplar employee, but she is retired on p
aper. He still hires her for consulting, especially when the client has Russian ties.
“I always liked lasagna, but they are a pain to make.” She nods with a huff. “I may want to try the frozen ones.”
“You will not,” I chide gruffly. “I will help you make it, Mrs. Sokolov.”
“It’s nutritious,” she insists with my reasoning.
“It’s processed,” I add.
I know that there is nutrition on some level, but it’s also unhealthy to eat so many processed products.
“So protective,” she jeers and grins prettily.
I lace my fingers from behind her waist and traps her into my chest. She shamelessly buries her face into the spot and whines, a grimace twists on her face as she lifts her hand to touch her cheek.
“Drool,” she notes with a quiet laugh.
I chuckle with her laughter before I lean down for a kiss on her pink lips. They’re soft and plush as my tongue runs along the seam that opened her mouth for me.
“It’s in my genes to be protective.”
She bats her long lashes. “I know, I remember I had these gross pregnancy cravings and you did not cave to my demands.”
“I can afford to be the bad man if it means that you will be healthy along with our daughter.”
Ezra presses, “You didn’t even flinch when I started to cry.”
I read up on the common occurrences of pregnancy and I have prepared for all the scenarios with calculated steps, but I also weighed the pros and cons of all the actions that I could take.
“Sobbing,” I correct. “You were sobbing so much that you nearly threw up.”
My pretty, little wife scowls at me playfully. I return the spirited grin.
Finale
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