A SWEET MISTAKE

Zareth’s POV 

My jaw clenched. Stripper. 

This man thinks I am a stripper.

I should have been angry, I should have turned around and staggered back into the hallway. But I was too drunk, too empty, too tired of being good. My father's voice rang in my ears: burden, disappointment, worthless. If he didn't want me, he'd give him a good reason not to want me. This was a stranger who didn't know me. He didn’t know anything. And now, I didn't give a shit what he said.

“Sorry,” I slurred, stepping forward and on cue, he played the music. 

I made it to the middle of the room, between him and a glass table with empty bottles all around. I backed away from him, put my hands on my thighs and slowly ground my hips. The motion felt good—raw and freeing. I leaned forward with my tank top up, showing off my lower back. I didn't need any music. I needed to get some movement.

I spun around, wobbling slightly. He stood up, crossed the distance between us, unnoticed. Fuck, he was tall.

“This the best you can do?” He asked, with a tinge of disappointment in his tone. 

“I can do more ,” I breathed, lifting my chin. I could feel defiance rising  in my chest. I took a deep breath, grabbed the hem of my tank top and yanked it over my head in one awkward move. The cloth fell to the ground. My breasts were bare, and my nipples instantly hardened  from the cold air and his eyes. I noticed that his eyes were looking down, and then back up at me.

I stepped closer. My hands were flat against his chest, pressing against the firm muscle under the cotton. He didn’t stop me. I pressed my hips against his, denim rubbing against denim, my lip biting as I felt the friction. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down until my lips touched his jaw.

Do you believe I’m simply a stripper?” Hot and reckless, I whispered. Then fuck me like one.

He began to growl lowly. His hand extended, he grabbed me by the waist, gasping at the pain. He turned me around and pushed me into the closest wall, making my breath come out of me. Before I could do anything, his hand slammed me in the ass, hard, not soft, not playful, deep and fucking hard, over and over.

The pain burst through me like lightning, and electric. I shrieked, but it was a moaning sound than a scream. I was about to buckle my knees, but he held me up and pinned my body to the wall with his.

The pain had become raw and aching need. My hands were grasping his shirt, buttons tumbling on the floor. He ripped it off, revealing a chest carved with scars and hard muscle. I touched his skin, his ridges, his twitches, ran my palms down his stomach. He took my jeans and pulled them down my hips. I kicked them off, panties followed.

My cunt was wet and aching, his fingers found it. He abruptly pushed two of them in me and I cried out as he stretched me. “You are wet through to your ears,” he growled into my ear. “Do you enjoy getting spanked, you little shrewd one?”

I could not say anything, but I could only nod, gasping as he pumped his fingers in and out, curling them against something that made stars burst behind my eyes. He took them out and licked them over, and never broke eye contact. Then he lifted me off the ground, by grabbing my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my back against the wall.

He lined his cock up—thick, hard, pressing against my entrance. I wanted it, it was grinding down, I wanted to get him in. But he was still, teasing, his breath hot on my mouth.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you want it.”

I ordered it, “I want it,” I rasped. “Fuck me.”

In one harsh blow, he rammed into me. I shrieked as my body stretched to fit his and the pain and pleasure were intermingled. He didn’t wait. He began to fuck me hard and fast and beat me against the wall, his hips pounding me against the wall with intensity. Each thrust sent shockwaves through me.

My nails raked down his back. He grunted, bit my shoulder and licked the wound. “Tight little cunt,” he hissed. “Made for me.”

I got lost in it. My head went back and I started to moan, as he tilted his hips, striking a point that made my vision go out of focus. I came hard, walls closing around him, but he didn't stop, kept fucking me up into it, up into me.

He reached out and laid me down on the couch on my belly. He spread my legs open and then was back inside me again, deeper this time fucking me from behind. My weight was heavy on the leather. He pulled at my hair, pulling my head back so that I arched my back.

You're going to take every drop," he growled, slamming into me, skin slapping skin. “I'm going to make you full and you'll remember who you belong to.”

I cried, and drooled down my chin. His breathing became ragged and his rhythm irregular. He bit down at one side of my neck and he bit at a soft spot. The pain flared, but was soon drowned by the wave of his release. Hot cum flooded in me, as he took hold of a handful of my ass. 

He fell on top of me, his body convulsing, crushing my body against the couch. I was there, shaking, the room was spinning slower. He rolled off, in his arms without asking. I couldn't help myself.

He said quietly, “You're not a stripper.

“Who are you?”