The Thief, part 7

She lay on the bed crying quietly. She wasn’t sobbing, but slow hot tears trickled from her eyes, slid across her cheek to be absorbed by the pillow under her head.

She lay on her left side, and He, the Bastard, lay behind her, spooning her. His leg was between hers, possessively hooked around her lower leg. One strong arm lay under her neck, and the other curled over her side, and lay passively, pinned between her full breasts.

She breathed in and out slowly, trying to dismiss the burning ache in her right butt cheek where a new tattoo was beginning to heal. Trying to dismiss the burning ache in her chest that she’d been well and truly caught. She, who relished freedom, snared. She tried to look on the bright side. She wasn’t in prison, and the Bastard certainly knew his way around a woman’s body. Despite the bondage, the whipping, the sheer implacable will of his demands on her, she enjoyed him sexually. Like she’d never enjoyed sex before. She tried not to think that this was the missing ingredient in her sex life. Tried not to think about how hot and wet her cunt grew at the thought of his hands slapping her tits, whipping her ass.  She felt slickery moisture begin to seep, and even as she noted it, her tears began to dry.

And He began to wake. His stiffening cock began to poke at her ass crack. She moaned, just a little. Even she didn’t know if it was lust or annoyance. Annoyance. Had to be.
“No, you Bastard!” she hissed, as his hands came to palm and mold her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples.

He ignored her.

“NO! you BASTARD!!” she hissed louder as he continued fondling and teasing her tits, milking her nipples.

He released one tit, slid the palm of his hand over her abused ass. Rubbed none to gently over the fresh tat.

“Owwww” she moaned, pulling away.

He pulled her back, reclaiming her tit.

“Mine. Remember that.” He said quietly into her ear, even as he eased his cock into her cunt from behind. He fucked her slowly, easily. It may have gone on for hours, days, weeks. A slow, steady in-and-out until without warning, she arched her back and moaned. She began thrusting  backwards impaling herself deeper on his cock.

In the darkness above her head, he smiled. He was a bastard. Proud of it, too, truth be told. And she was definitely his. Hell of a package. Better than diamonds, more fun than a girlfriend. She had spunk, creativity, and a fucking fine ass. Or was that a fine ass for fucking. Both. Yeah.

He pushing a bit harder, as she continued pushing back into him. The squelching wetness of her grasping, greedy cunt welcomed his hardness. The soft folds of her body opened for him, the slickness gilded his cock, allowing him safe passage into her hot harbor.

When they exploded, it was nearly synchronous, twin moans, twin geysers of hot juices  mingling. As his cock slowly subsided, he kept his hips pushed into her ass, keeping him nested inside of her for as long as possible.

They slept.