Chapter 12: Ruin Me

I stumbled back, panting, dazed, trying to make sense of his words—his voice still rasping in my ears.

“I said,” Dylan growled, stepping forward, his thick cock bobbing between his legs as he moved, “get your fucking clothes off.”

I obeyed. I didn’t even think. My shirt came off in one motion, my jeans shoved down, boxers peeled after, clumsily kicking them aside. My hands were shaking, adrenaline and lust flooding me. I barely made it onto the couch before he was already climbing over me, grabbing my legs, dragging me into place.

He was strong. So strong.

His mouth was on my neck instantly—hot, hungry, biting. His cock pressed hard against my stomach, slick with spit and pre-cum, and I couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop feeling him, grabbing at his back, shoulders, anywhere I could reach.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he whispered against my ear. “Wearing those tight jeans, sneaking around ... jerking me off like some filthy little secret.”

I whimpered.

“You wanted to get fucked, didn’t you?” he said, hand sliding down, wrapping around the back of my thigh and pushing it up.

“Yeah,” I breathed, voice cracking.

He kissed me then—filthy and rough, like he was trying to devour the last breath out of my lungs. I moaned into his mouth as he grinded against me, his cock dragging along mine, hot and slick between our stomachs.

Then his hand slipped between us.

Fingers slid lower. Testing. Circling.

I gasped.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice softer for a second. “I got you.”

He reached for the bottle of lube already tossed beside the couch—he must’ve planned this—and slicked his fingers quickly before sliding one inside me. My body tensed, then opened, slowly, as he worked me open, one finger, then two, curling, stretching, teasing.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, watching me with this stunned, almost reverent look. “So fucking good already.”

I was moaning shamelessly, hand gripping his bicep, back arching with every thrust of his fingers.

“I need you,” I gasped. “Dylan—please.”

“I’ve waited too long for this.”

His hands gripped my waist, strong and possessive, pulling me back as the thick head of his cock pressed against my hole. I gasped, body going tense.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice suddenly gentler. “I’ve got you.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow.

Thick.

Stretching me open inch by inch, letting my body to take him, to feel him—every vein, every pulse, every twitch of that cock as it filled me deeper than I thought possible.

“F-fuck,” I choked out, eyes wide, nails digging into the couch cushion.

“Dylan...”

Dylan groaned behind me, like he was struggling to hold back. “So fucking tight,” he growled. “You were made for this.”

He bottomed out, hips flush to my ass, balls pressed firm and heavy. We stayed like that for a second, both panting, our bodies shaking.

Then he pulled out—slow—and slammed back in.

I cried out, loud and desperate.

“Are you okay, Troy”, he asked.

“Yes, Yes. I can’t believe this is happening”

He pulled his cock out, adjusted a little and slammed back again. And again. His rhythm building, harder, deeper, until my whole body rocked forward with each thrust, holding both his biceps for support. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. That and my moans. His grunts. The filthy sounds of him owning me.

“I want to hear you,” he growled, fucking me harder now, sweat dripping off him. “Let the whole damn neighborhood hear who you belong to.”

“Dylan,” I gasped. “You feel so—oh god—”

“That’s right,” he panted. “Say my fucking name.”

“Dylan—yes—fuck—”

“Aaaah”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanked me back, his chest now flush against my spine. I could feel his abs flexing every time he thrust into me.

“You begged for this,” he hissed into my ear. “You earned this.”