Thrusts Novels & Stories

My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out my pain, my exhaustion. "You're lying," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I needed to believe he was lying. Malcom tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Am I?" I lunged. I didn’t think—I just moved. Pure instinct. Malcom's eyes flickered with surprise just before my head slammed into his nose, the sheer strength of it, pulling a caught off-guard Maxwell along. A satisfying crunch echoed through the prayer room, followed by his sharp hiss of pain. "Fucking bitch!" He stumbled back, clutching his face.

Thrust. “You know I'll do anything for you.” Thrust. “There's no one here. But I promise, I promise to make up for this.” Another hard thrust. “Fuck, I love you so much, firecracker,” he confessed, saying each word alongside a hard thrust. She moaned loudly, “Alessandro-oo,” she screamed. “You drive me fucking crazy,” He used his grip on her hips to bounce her on his cock. A shriek left her lips, while a satisfactory groan left his.

Consuming her completely like I should have done the night that she turned 18 but it’s a little. I bite her nipples, feeling the heat and something building up inside me as her walls clinches to mine, and I am ramming inside her like I couldn’t live a single second without being inside her. “You *thrust* are *thrust* so *thrust* fucking *thrust* good *thrust* just *thrust* like *thrust* mine! *thrust* Only *thrust* fucking *thrust* mine *thrust* that *thrust* no *thrust* one *thrust* can *thrust* ever *thrust* look *thrust* or *thrust* touch, *thrust* Rachel! (You are so fucking good, just like mine! Only fucking mine that no one can ever look or touch, Rachel!)” I growls, thrusting inside h

I moaned as Marcus thrust deep inside me, his thick cock stretching me open in one deep powerful thrust. I was on my back in his big bed, with my legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked me with long, and steady thrusts. His body was heavy and warm on top of mine, his muscles flexing under my hands as I gripped his shoulders. Those strong hands held my hips, pulling me onto him with every thrust, making sure I took every single inch of him.

The sheer scale of the math was giving me a migraine that blurred my vision. "Dad, even if you manage to physically rip those six thrusters out of the Forges, we have nowhere to mount them!" I shouted over the comms, my fingers flying across three different terminal keyboards at once. "The Ark's external hull is smooth! If we just weld them to the bottom, the sheer kinetic torque will rip the city floor right out from under us!"

[Excellent-Grade Multi-Point Continuous Thruster] [Combat Power +30] Victor nodded, very satisfied with the thruster. A continuous thruster can continuously thrust two times or more, allowing a mecha to have more powerful kinetic energy. Besides continuous thrusters, there are also high-speed thrusters, parallel thrusters, jet thrusters, and so on. There are many types, and the choice depends on individual needs. This was the only special thruster Victor had, so he had no choice, but he was happy enough because the continuous thruster was a very decent thruster. Moreover, it was excellent-grade, so it gave a significant combat power boost. Victor had no reason to be dissatisfied.

Then he began to move. There was no gentle rhythm. It was pure, animalistic fucking. He pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in, the force of it shaking the bed. Each thrust was a claim, a punctuation to his growled words. “Mine.” Thrust. “My mate.” Thrust. “My heartbeat.” Thrust.

He started the set. Ten short, piston-fast thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway so the fat ridge of his cockhead stayed hammering my front wall. Each one slammed my g-spot dead on. Wet, filthy squelching sounds filled the gym, mixed with the sharp slap of his pelvis against my ass and my choked, sobbing moans. By the seventh thrust my eyes were rolling back, thighs spasming helplessly in his iron grip. Clear fluid leaked around his thick shaft in rhythmic pulses, dripping down my ass and pooling on the bench beneath me.

Every thrust is a reclamation. I am lost in the sensation, my teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle a scream of pure bliss. I scratch at his back, my body slick with sweat. We move in a synchronized chaos until I feel the tension snap. I break first, my body folding into his as the climax hits me like a wave.

The friction between the rough brick and the force of his body produces a heat that my wiring catalogs as pain-adjacent and converts into pressure that adds to the building intensity in my abdomen. His pace is combat-fast. Each thrust carries the residual energy of the fight – the same muscles that cracked a wolf's forearm now driving into me with force that the brick wall absorbs through my spine. His hand on my wrists above my head tightens, and the blood on his fingers is drying against my skin, and the drying blood bonds our wrists together with a tacky adhesion that his next thrust breaks and reforms and breaks again.