Page 291 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Consuming.
Like he’s trying to take everything at once, like he needs to feel me, taste me, anchor himself in me in a way that nothing else can.
I meet him there. Match him. Because I’ve missed this. God, I’ve missed this. The intensity. The weight of him. The way he takes. The way he doesn’t hold back.
My fingers curl into his shoulders as I kiss him back just as hard, just as deep, my breath catching as his grip tightens on me, holding me firmly against him.
“There you are,” I whisper against his mouth. “There’s the man I married.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes.
His jaw tightens.
A low, rough sound pulls from him, half breath, half growl, as his grip tightens further, his hand pressing into my thigh, anchoring me harder against the wall.
“I love you, wife,” he says, the words rough, almost breaking under the weight of everything in them. And then he pins me there. Fully.
His body pressing into mine, holding me in place, leaving no space between us as everything shifts, everything tightens, everything builds.
The tension. The need. The release he’s been holding back finally starting to snap. And I feel it, the moment it tips. The moment it turns into something else entirely.
His mouth crashes into mine again, harder this time, teeth nipping at my lower lip as he growls low in his throat. The sound vibrates through my chest, raw and desperate, like every demon he’s been carrying tonight is clawing its way out through this kiss. He doesn’t ask. He takes. His tongue plunges deep, claiming every inch of my mouth while his hands grip my thighs so tightly I know I’ll wear his fingerprints tomorrow.
He spins us so my back hits the hallway wall with a solid thud, the impact knocking the breath from me in the best way. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he pins me there, his body a wall of heat and muscle caging me in.
One hand stays under my ass, holding me up like I weigh nothing, the other yanks my sleep shirt up and over my head in one rough motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. He doesn’t bother with my underwear, just shoves them aside, fingers hooking the fabric out of the way as he frees himself.
His cock is thick, heavy, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He fists it once, eyes wild and locked on mine, then lines up and slams into me in one brutal thrust.
I scream.
The stretch is sudden, burning, perfect. He bottoms out so deep I feel him in my stomach, his hips flush against mine, the coarse hair at his base grinding against my clit. The hallway echoes with the wet slap of skin on skin as he starts to fuck me right there against the wall, hard, deep, relentless strokes that make the picture frames rattle.
“Elijah... fuck! Yes!” I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, heels digging into his back.
He snarls, actually snarls, hips snapping faster, the wet, filthy sound of his cock driving into my soaked pussy filling the hallway. “That’s it, wife. Take it. Take every fucking inch while I fuck the fear out of both of us.”
He knows Zach and Jackson can hear us. I know they can. The thought only makes me wetter, makes me clench harder around him. He feels it and groans, low and broken, pounding into me like he’s trying to exorcise every nightmare through my body.
“You’re sacred,” he pants against my mouth, voice wrecked. “My altar. I’m fucking my sins away with you, every second I thought you were gone, every drop of blood I just washed off myhands. You’re alive. You’re mine. You’re carrying my baby and still letting me ruin you like this.”
His free hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing fast, merciless circles. The pressure builds like wildfire. My walls flutter and clench around his thick cock, the wet sounds growing louder, messier, as I grow even slicker for him.
“Come for me,” he growls against my ear, teeth grazing my neck. “Come on my cock right here in the hallway where they can hear how loud I make my wife scream.”
The orgasm rips through me like lightning. I scream his name, back arching hard against the wall, pussy clamping down so violently around him that my vision whites out. Waves of pleasure crash through me, my walls pulsing and milking his cock as hot slickness floods around him. He fucks me through every spasm, hips never slowing, drawing it out until I’m sobbing, shaking, legs trembling around his waist.
Only then does he pull out, still hard, still throbbing, and lift me off the wall like I’m something precious and breakable at the same time. He carries me down the hall, kicking open the spare room door with his foot. The room is dark, the bed untouched. He drops me onto it face-down, yanks my hips up so I’m on my knees, and slams back into me in one brutal thrust.
Deeper.
Harder.
He grips my hips with bruising force and fucks me relentlessly, the bed creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall with every punishing stroke. The angle lets him hit that spot inside me that makes me see stars, his balls slapping loudly against my clit with every thrust.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, voice raw. “Ass up, taking my cock like the perfect little altar you are. I’m going to fuck every last demon out of me until you’re dripping with me.”
He spanks me once, sharp and hot, then again, the sting blooming into pleasure as he drives deeper. I cry out, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. The intensity is almost too much, my body feels like it’s going to shatter, like I won’t survive the way he’s claiming me, but I want it. I need it. I feel alive, completely his, sacred and ruined all at once.
