Mag-log inCassie.“Fuck… Dante…” I yelp, the sound ripping from my throat as he thrusts two thick fingers in and out of my dripping pussy, curling them hard against my front wall, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.The hood’s metal warms under my back, but his fingers are fire—pumping relentless, knuckles dragging my slick walls, saliva and juices squelching obscenely with every plunge.My hips buck wild, chasing the rhythm, thighs quivering in his iron grip.He yanks them out suddenly, leaving me empty and whining, pussy clenching around nothing.Before I can beg, he lowers his head, hands clamping my thighs wider, spreading me like a feast.His tongue drags flat and slow up my clit—hot, wet pressure that sends shocks through my core.“Oh yes! Yeah… right there, please don’t stop…” I moan, voice breaking, fingers scraping the hood for anchor as pleasure coils tight.“You’re still screaming, princess…” he murmurs against my folds, the vibration humming straight to my cli
Cassie. He doesn’t utter a single word; he simply restarts the engine, and within minutes, we pull into the driveway at home. I figure Dad’s out anyway, so I snatch my backpack and hop from the car without waiting for Dante to open the door. But his voice halts me cold. “You’re forgetting this, princess…” he drawls, rough and languid, laced with smug amusement. What did I forget? Backpack’s slung over my shoulder, shoes on—what else? “What’s that?” I snap, still facing away, cheeks burning. “Why don’t you turn around and see for yourself,” he taunts, that smirk dripping from every syllable. Heavy shame floods my skin, but it only fuels the ache—after flashing my pussy in the car and getting silence, why do I still throb for him? My thighs are slick, wetness trailing down, no panties to catch it, dripping freely. Oh god. I spin. Dante leans against the passenger door, my lace thong dangling from his fingers like a trophy, raised high. My feet root to the spot;
Cassie. I don’t know if it’s wrong to feel this way, but my body’s become its own universe, heat pooling between my thighs, growing hotter every damn day. Alone in my room, I can’t stop—fingers slipping into my pussy, thrusting deeper, harder, chasing that edge. I pinch my nipples raw, twisting until they ache, fucking myself frantic with my hand, but it’s never enough. I’m 18; I shouldn’t be this desperate, this filthy. My brain screams it’s wrong, but my body betrays every moral, craving skin, touch, him. Ever since Dad assigned Dante as my bodyguard, it’s worsened. I bought vibrators, dildos in every size—thick, veined, buzzing monsters—but they’re hollow substitutes. My pussy aches for Dante’s cock, wants to swallow him whole, feel him stretch and ruin me instead of cold silicone. “Oh my god, Cassie… is that your new bodyguard?” Mimi, my best friend, whispers as we walk the school hallway. She’s spotted Dante stepping out of the car, opening my door with that s
Lila. He widens my legs further with rough hands, knees pushed back until one brushes my face, exposing me completely. “All mine… all fucking mine,” he growls, tilting his head to spit a thick glob right on my pussy. The warm saliva lands hot on my mound, trickling down to my clit, making it twitch and throb. Instead of releasing my thighs, he presses one down harder, pinning it, his spit mixing with my wetness, sending electric jolts through my veins. I crave more—filthy, degrading, perfect. “I want more, please… spit on me, please,” I cry, words tumbling out unfiltered, my body betraying every sense. It started craving Damon long ago. “Oh, you want more? You’re so dirty, aren’t you… my dirty little plaything,” he says, pouring another fat glob of saliva onto my pussy. It hits my mound, rolling slow down to my clit, slick and obscene. “Touch yourself for me, baby… touch it before you can have my cock,” he commands, eyes burning. My hands trail down, arch
Lila. I crawl across the mattress toward him, my knees sinking into the soft fabric, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and raw need. Damon’s eyes lock on me, dark and hungry, a smirk playing on his lips. “Such a good little girl, aren’t you?” he says, his hands slapping both my thighs sharp and stinging as I straddle his face, spreading my legs wide. The smack echoes, heat flaring across my skin, making my pussy clench harder. His fingers find the rope lace cinching my gown around my chest, tugging it loose with rough pulls. “I want these off… I want to see how beautiful those tits are,” he grunts, voice thick with lust, yanking the fabric free. My breasts spring out, heavy and aching, nipples hard from the cool air and his gaze. Leaning forward, my face inches from his, they brush his cheeks, teasing his lips. He reaches up, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard, tongue swirling the peak while his teeth graze just enough to spark pain-pleasure. I’ve
Lila. “If you won’t do that… I have better ways to make you beg… make you beg me to fuck you so hard,” he taunts, voice dripping with dark promise. “It’s just so written all over your body that you want to get fucked… on your best friend’s wedding… by her fiancé…” He slams harder, his chest crushing my back, my breasts flattening painfully against the door, nipples scraping the wood through my gown. “You tell me it’s the wrong room you got into… you and I fucking know it’s a lie, princess,” he mocks, breath hot on my neck. I’m gasping, trembling, my cheek pressed flush to the door like it’s clamped there, hands splayed wide for balance. He drops suddenly to his knees behind me, bunching my gown higher, exposing my ass completely. What I didn’t expect—a sharp, stinging smack lands on my right cheek, the crack echoing in the room. I yelp, jolting forward. “You naughty girl… getting into the wrong room,” he growls, another smack on the left, harder, heat blooming acros







