Page 28 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 3

My mouth waters as I drag my hand up and down his thick length, watching him tip his head back, fists planted at either side of me, while his jaw tightens.

His eyes are on me again, dark and carnal.

He tugs the bottom of the dress up just above my hips, carefully slides my panties aside, and hoists me up against the wall. Pinning me there, he shoves himself inside of me and lets out a grunt.

“Oh God!” I gasp for breath as he fills me, damn near splitting me in two.

“God has nothing to do with this. When you come, it’s my name you’ll scream. I want to hear it beating against my skull.” Holding me up with one arm, he yanks the front of my dress down to expose my breast, and I realize he’s right.

There is no God here.

He’s not my savior.

He’s an angel with black wings.

A dealer of death.

My ruin.

In the mirror, I look like the whore he’s paying to fuck wherever he wants, and the moment his lips clamp down on my nipple, the glass walls that surround us become my own personal hell. I’m obsessed with the way the man touches me, evident in the bliss on my face, seduced by his wicked charm and roughness.

I watch his body flex, the control of his movements with my legs splayed helplessly at either side of him as he takes me hard and fast against the wall—a beast and his fragile little toy. The smooth and sculpted lines of his hips pound a rhythm of mass destruction. The man has wrecked me. Physically destroyed me for any other but him, and no matter where I look, I see it staring back at me in my expression. He’s fucking me both mentally and physically.

The sight of us moving in unison is darkly erotic. Perfect, as if we were designed for each other.

I screw my eyes shut. He’s not mine. This doesn’t belong to me. But it feels too damn good not to enjoy it for what it is.

He slams into me harder. Faster. Pistoning me into the wall. The pain is delicious and dirty, as he savagely uses my body to release his rage. I like him this way—out of control—a complete contrast to his usual cool and collected self.

As massive as he is, I know he’d never hurt me. He may fuck me like I’m unbreakable, but he holds me like delicate porcelain in his rough hands.

At a small moan that escapes me, he places a hand over my mouth, perhaps meant to keep me from screaming with abandon, but the gesture sends me over the edge and I cry out into his palm as his dick continues its relentless assault.

The back of his neck carries a shine of sweat, his tattoos rippling with the flex of his muscles.

The pressure builds, higher and higher, until at last, I let it crash over me and scream into his palm.

He rests his head in the crook of my neck, and I wait for him to do something horrific like stab his thigh with a blade. Instead, he sucks my throat, while he comes inside of me, grunting and groaning with his release. The pained expression on his face when he pulls away, veins popping out of his neck, the intensity and focus as he empties his dick into me, filling me, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“I thought you needed pain.”

“I was in pain.” His voice is hoarse and gravelly, as he pulls out of me, catching his breath.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yeah.” He cups my face with one hand, dragging me in for a greedy, violent kiss. “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts.” With our foreheads pressed together, we battle for the air between us, breathing deeply. Sliding down his body, my feet hit the floor as he sets me down, watching me as I tuck my breast back into my dress, and he zips his jeans back up.

He presses the stop elevator button that spits us out onto the basement level, and with his cum soaking my panties, we walk out casually toward the car.

9

Dylan

With a bottle of Hennessey, I stand at Ripley’s office door, my hand poised to knock. No doubt, he already knows I’m there, could probably hear my footsteps across the foyer. I open the door to find him sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair, with only the desk lamp illuminating the room. His bare chest catches my attention, and I glance to the side to see his button-down shirt discarded across the chair. Head kicked to the side, he strokes his chin, eyes tracking my every move.

“I’ll never take you by surprise, will I?” I ask, stepping just inside the room.

“Not when you’re the only thing I want to look at.”