The Obsidian Crypt

The door slammed behind us. Locked. The Obsidian Crypt wasn't a place for gentle lovers. It was a place for fucking. Raw. Hard. No pretense.

I'd been watching him all night. Brenn. The scarred mercenary with broad shoulders that strained against his worn leather jerkin, his dark hair cropped short, and a jaw that looked like it could break bone. His hands—calloused, scarred, with knuckles that had seen too many fights—promised to ruin me. And I wanted to be ruined.

"Against the wall," he commanded, and I didn't hesitate. My back hit the cold stone, and his body pressed against mine—all heat and muscle and barely contained violence. I could feel the hard planes of his chest through my thin dress, the way his thighs bracketed mine, trapping me.

"You've been staring at me all night, little whore," he said, his breath hot against my ear. His hand came up, fingers tangling in my auburn curls—hair that fell past my shoulders, wild and unbound. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought you'd fuck me," I breathed, and his hand closed around my throat. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make me feel it. To make me know who was in control. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I could feel my heart racing beneath his touch.

"That's right," he growled. "You're going to get exactly what you've been begging for. But first—" His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. I arched against the wall, my breasts pressing against his chest, and I saw his eyes darken. "First, you're going to show me how much you want it."

He released my throat, and I dropped to my knees without being told. The stone floor was cold against my bare skin—I'd worn a dress that was easy to remove, anticipating this. My knees ached against the rough stone, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the thick bulge in his leathers, already straining against the fabric.

"Take it out," he ordered. "Use your mouth."

My fingers trembled as I undid his belt, his laces. When I freed him, he was already hard—thick and heavy and perfect. His cock was long, veined, flushed dark with need. I didn't wait for permission. I took him in my mouth, deep, and he groaned above me, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head.

"Fuck, yes," he snarled, his hand tightening in my hair. "That's it. Show me what a desperate little slut you are."

I worked him with my mouth, my tongue, my throat. He tasted like salt and sweat and pure fucking need. I hollowed my cheeks, swallowed him deeper, and he pulled my hair hard enough to make me whimper. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

"Look at you," he said, voice rough. "On your knees like the whore you are. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to suck cock."

I couldn't answer with his length filling my mouth, but I moaned around him, and that seemed to be enough. He fucked my face, holding my head still, using my mouth like it belonged to him. His hips moved in a brutal rhythm, and I took every inch, my throat working around him.

"You like that?" he demanded. "You like being used like a cheap whore?"

I nodded as much as I could, tears streaming down my face from the intensity. He pulled out, and I gasped for air, my lips swollen and wet, saliva dripping down my chin.

"Tell me," he said, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. "Tell me what you are."

"I'm your whore," I panted. "I'm your slut. I'm whatever you want me to be."

"Good girl." He pulled me to my feet, spun me around, and pushed me face-first against the wall. "Now I'm going to fuck you. Hard. The way you've been begging for all night."

His hands ripped at my clothes—fabric tearing, buttons scattering. I didn't care. I wanted to be bare. Wanted to feel his skin against mine. He stripped me down to nothing, and I heard him do the same behind me. When I felt his bare chest press against my back, I shivered. His skin was hot, covered in scars and old wounds, and I could feel the hard muscle beneath.

"Spread your legs," he commanded, and I did. "Wider. Show me how wet you are for me."

His fingers found me, and I cried out at the contact. I was soaked. Dripping. I'd been wet since the moment I saw him across the tavern. My pussy was swollen, sensitive, and when he slid two fingers inside me, I nearly came from that alone.

"Fuck, you're drenched," he said, his fingers sliding in and out of me. "You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you? Thinking about my cock inside you."

"Yes," I gasped. "Please. I need it. I need you to fuck me."

"Not yet." He pulled his fingers out, and I whimpered at the loss. "First, you're going to beg. Properly. Like the desperate little slut you are."

He turned me around, and I saw the hunger in his eyes. Pure, raw need. The same need that was burning through me. His cock stood rigid between us, and I wanted to taste it again, wanted to feel it inside me, wanted everything.

"Beg," he said. "Get on your knees and beg me to fuck you."

I dropped to the floor again, my hands on his thighs. His legs were thick with muscle, covered in dark hair, and I could see the scars that crisscrossed his skin. "Please," I started, but he grabbed my hair.

"Better. Tell me what you want. Use your words."

"I want your cock," I said, the words spilling out. "I want you to fuck me. Hard. Rough. I want you to use me. I want to be your whore. Your slut. Please, Brenn. Please fuck me."

"That's my girl." He pulled me up again, but this time he didn't pin me against the wall. Instead, he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. He carried me to a heavy wooden table in the corner—rough-hewn, scarred, perfect for what we were about to do.

He set me down on the edge, and I spread my legs wide, showing him everything. My breasts bounced with the movement, nipples hard and peaked, and I saw his eyes fix on them. He stepped between my thighs, his hands on my hips, and I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded, and I did. His eyes were dark, intense, and I couldn't look away. "I want to see your face when I break you."

He entered me in one brutal thrust, and I screamed. It was too much. Too fast. Too perfect. He filled me completely, stretching me, claiming me. My back arched, and I dug my nails into the table, trying to find purchase.

"Fuck, you're tight," he snarled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Tight and wet and mine."

He started moving, and I lost all control. His thrusts were deep, hard, each one driving me up the table. I could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse, and it was overwhelming. My breasts bounced with each thrust, and he reached up, pinching my nipples hard.

"Tell me," he demanded, his pace relentless. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," I gasped. "I belong to you. I'm yours. Your whore. Your slut. Fuck me. Please. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping," he promised, and he meant it. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and I could feel myself coming apart. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in my belly, and I knew I wouldn't last long.

"I'm close," I warned him. "I'm so close."

"Not yet," he said, and he pulled out completely. I whimpered at the loss, my body clenching around nothing. "Turn around. On your hands and knees."

I did as he commanded, my ass in the air, my face pressed against the rough wood. I could feel how wet I was, how I was dripping onto the table. He positioned himself behind me, and I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance again.

"This is how I'm going to fuck you," he said, his hand coming down hard on my ass. The slap stung, and I cried out, but I wanted more. "Like the animal you are. On all fours, taking my cock like you were made for it."

He entered me again, and this time it was deeper. The angle was different, and I could feel him hitting places inside me that made me see stars. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he fucked me hard and fast.

"Fuck," I gasped. "Fuck, yes. Harder. Please."

"You want it harder?" he asked, and I felt his hand come down on my ass again. "You want me to really fuck you?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "Please. Fuck me harder. Use me."

He did. His thrusts became brutal, each one driving me forward. I could hear the sound of our bodies slapping together, wet and obscene. My breasts swung beneath me, and I could feel my clit rubbing against the table with each thrust.

"I'm going to come," I warned him. "I'm so close."

"Not yet," he said again, and he pulled out. I cried out in frustration, my body trembling. "Stand up. Face me."

I did, my legs shaking, and he pulled me against him. His cock was slick with my wetness, and I could feel it press against my stomach. He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist again, this time facing him.

"I want to see your face when you come," he said, and he entered me again. This position was different—deeper, more intimate, and I could feel every inch of him. His hands gripped my ass, holding me up, and he fucked me like that, my back against the wall.

I could see his face, see the way his jaw clenched, see the sweat on his brow. His eyes were locked on mine, and I couldn't look away. Every thrust drove me higher, and I knew I was close. So close.

"I'm close," I warned him again. "I'm so close."

"Not yet," he said, and he slowed his pace. "You don't come until I say. You understand?"

"Yes," I begged. "Please. Let me come. I need it."

"You need it?" he asked, and I felt his hand slide between us. His thumb found my clit, and I cried out. "You need to come on my cock like the desperate little whore you are?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "Please. Please let me come."

"Come for me," he commanded, and that was all it took.

I shattered. My entire body seized, and I came hard around him, my orgasm ripping through me like lightning. I screamed his name, and he kept fucking me through it, drawing out every last wave of pleasure. My nails dug into his shoulders, and I could feel the blood beneath my fingertips.

"That's it," he growled. "Come all over my cock. Show me what a good little slut you are."

The aftershocks were still rolling through me when I felt him tense. His thrusts became erratic, desperate, and I knew he was close too. He pulled me tighter against him, his face buried in my neck, and I could feel his teeth against my skin.

"Fuck," he snarled, and I felt him pulse inside me. He came hard, his release filling me, and I held him tight as he rode out his own climax. His body shook with it, and I could feel every tremor.

We stayed like that for a moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still connected. Then he pulled out, and I slid down the wall, my legs too weak to hold me. I collapsed onto the floor, my body trembling, my skin slick with sweat.

He knelt beside me, his hand cupping my face. His thumb traced my bottom lip, and I could see the concern in his eyes. "You okay?"

"More than okay," I breathed, and I meant it. My whole body felt like it was humming, alive in a way I'd never experienced. My pussy was sore, my ass was stinging, and I loved every mark he'd left on me.

"Good." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, surprisingly gentle after the roughness. "You took it well."

"I'd take it again," I said, and he laughed. I could see the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was beautiful in his own rough way, all hard edges and sharp lines.

"I know you would." He helped me to my feet, and I leaned against him, my body still trembling. His arm came around my waist, supporting me, and I could feel the strength in him. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up. The night's not over yet."

I smiled, and followed him deeper into the crypt. The Obsidian Crypt had lived up to its reputation. And I had a feeling this was just the beginning.

Outside, the sounds of Velnaris continued—drunken laughter, distant music, the clatter of carts on cobblestones. But in the crypt, there was only us. Only the echo of what we'd done. And the promise of what was to come.