Chapter 262

[ 1,007 words ]

I lapped at her wet folds, my tongue moving in heavy, relentless strokes. She was already soaking, her body reacting to my presence before we had even touched. I thrust my tongue deep inside her pussy, fucking her with my tongue, mimicking the heavy, brutal rhythm I wanted to unleash on her.

“Julian,” she choked out, her hands slamming against my shoulders to keep her balance.

I didn’t stop. I increased the pressure, my tongue driving in and out of her wet core while my fingers dug into her hips, holding her open for me. Katia let out a loud, breathless cry, her body shaking uncontrollably as her climax hit her. Her pussy spasmed around my tongue, milking me, her knees buckling under the sheer force of the release.

I stood up immediately. I didn’t waste time with the bed. The floor was right here, cold and hard against her bare skin, and I didn’t care. The floor was good.

I unbuckled my belt and shoved my trousers down, my cock springing free—massive, thick, and throbbing violently with a dark, heavy pressure. I grabbed her hips, pulling her legs wide, and positioned the head of my rigid cock at her entrance. I slanted my hips and drove all the way inside her in one single, heavy plunge.

Katia let out a loud, high-pitched scream, her head thrashing back against the hardwood. The sudden, brutal entry filled her completely, stretching her tight, wet walls to their absolute limit.

I reached down to pin her wrists to the floor, and that was when she saw it.

“Julian, your hand,” she gasped, her eyes widening as she saw the dark, wet blood smeared across her skin and his palm, the fresh cuts from the shattered crystal still leaking.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t care about the cuts. I didn’t feel the pain. I only felt the burning, territorial demand to claim what was mine.

I increased my pace immediately, fucking her so hard her body slid slightly against the polished wood with every thrust. I was relentless. I was driving myself deep into her wet core, my hips hitting hers with a heavy, wet thud that filled the quiet penthouse.

“Ah! Julian!” she moaned, her voice a broken, desperate sob.

She circled her legs tightly around my waist, locking her ankles behind my back, pulling me even deeper into her tight, hot pussy. I didn’t talk. I didn’t say a single word. I was simply claiming her in every way possible, my cock marking her, driving the memory of Jude Wolfe’s words completely out of her mind. Every stroke was a physical reclamation, a reminder of who had actually signed that marriage certificate, who owned her body, and who slept in her bed.

The friction was intense, drawing the heat from my balls and pushing me closer to the edge with every thrust.

I pulled out of her, the slick, wet sound echoing in the room. I grabbed her waist and turned her over, forcing her onto her hands and knees. Now, she was facing the massive glass window, looking directly at the city below us.

I aligned myself and drove back into her from behind.

Katia let out a loud, breathless cry. Her hand reached out, grabbing the glass of the window in a desperate attempt to find purchase, her fingers leaving smudges on the clean pane as she tried to hold onto something. I fucked her hard, my hands clamping around her hips to control the angle, my thrusts becoming savage and deep.

She was shaking. The view of the city was a blur of lights, but all she could feel was the massive, throbbing weight of my cock moving inside her.

I wanted more. I wanted her completely helpless under me.

I reached down, scooped my arms under her thighs, and carried her up. I lifted her weight completely off the floor, pinning her front flat against the cold glass of the window. She had to support her upper body by pressing her palms against the pane, her breath fogging the glass as I continued to fuck her from behind.

I reached one hand around her body, my fingers wrapping around her breast and pinching her nipple hard, while my other hand gripped her hip to drive myself into her wet, swollen core.

The angle was extreme. Every thrust hit her cervix with a brutal, unyielding depth. Katia came again, her body going entirely rigid against the glass, her mouth opening in a silent, breathless scream as her climax tore through her over and over again.

The tightness of her release was my breaking point. I let out a low, animal growl deep in my chest. I gave three more massive, soul-crushing thrusts, burying myself so deep against her womb that our hip bones slammed together, and then I broke.

I spilled my seed deep inside her. The hot, thick pulse of my release filled her core, over and over, until my thighs were shaking and my chest was heaving against her back.

We stayed like that for a long moment, our bodies pressed together against the glass, before I slowly let her down.

We both collapsed onto the floor, our limbs tangled, our skin slick with sweat, blood, and shared fluid. We lay on the floor in the dark, the city lights moving indifferently below us, and we didn’t talk.

There was nothing left to say.

I found my spot in the WEG hospitality suite before the grid opened.

Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the entire circuit. Coffee I was not drinking. A press credential that gave me access to every level of the event and which I had used to position myself exactly where I needed to be—high enough to see everything and close enough to move fast if I needed to.

The Brooklyn Grand Prix exhibition had drawn forty thousand people to the waterfront.

The grid was legitimate—professional GT machinery, exhibition drivers, and the kind of event that existed at the intersection of motorsport and spectacle.

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