Her nails raked my back, leaving furrows of stinging fire that bloomed hot and bright across my skin—lines of possession, marking me as hers while I branded her as mine with every brutal thrust.
The sharp scent of sweat and sex hung thick in the air, our bodies slick, sliding together in a wet, primal rhythm. Her back arched completely off the bed, spine bowing like a drawn bowstring, her full tits bouncing heavily with the violence of my strokes, nipples drawn tight into dark, aching peaks that begged for my mouth.
"Ah—ah—god—yes—fuck—" she chanted, voice cracking, raw, the words punched out of her on every slam of my hips.
"Peter—Peter—Peter—" My name became her prayer, her plea, her entire world narrowed down to the thick cock splitting her open.
"Don't stop—don't you fucking stop—" she begged, nails scrabbling over my shoulders, my arms, anywhere she could reach, leaving red trails that burned deliciously.
I gave her no mercy.
