She Bites His Arm on the Cold Ledge

He slammed her into the crate. Wood jumped. Elizabeth’s back hit and the folder tore out of her grip, papers skidding across the concrete. Orion’s hand locked on her jaw. Kill her. Or— Her mouth opened under his and the thought died in it.

“You planted—” she hissed. He crushed it. Mouth on mouth. Teeth. Heat. The word broke against his tongue. She bit him for it. He growled into the bite and his other hand ripped her shirt open. Buttons popped. One hit the concrete and spun. He didn’t look. Her bra went next. Shoved down to her ribs, straps dragged off her shoulders, cups bunched useless under the swell of her. Breasts bare and shoved up against his chest. Her arms free. She used them. Fists in his shirt. Hauling him in.

Outside, boots. Voices. Armed men on the truce line. Close. Too close.

She dragged against him. Nipples scraping the cotton of his shirt, tight, catching on the buttons. He shoved her back and bent and got one in his mouth. Sucked. Bit. She bucked and her own hand slapped over her mouth. He felt the shudder go through her ribs. Her other hand clawed at his belt. Leather. Buckle. His cock straining the zip. He shoved his hand under her skirt and found her panties. Soaked. Scalding through the cotton. Wet enough that his fingers slid before he even hooked them. She jolted into his palm and bit her lip bloody to keep the noise in.

He yanked the panties aside. Not off. No time. Two fingers dragged through her and came back shining. She got his zip down. Fisted him and dragged him out. Thick. Hot. Already leaking. Her palm smeared the slick across the head and he jerked in her grip. He grabbed her thigh, hitched it, and ground his cock against the bare skin there. Left a wet trail. Her skirt rode up. Seams popped at the hip. He didn’t care. She pumped him once, twice, thumb working the head, and a sound climbed his own throat. He bit it off against her neck.

“Quiet,” he rasped into her teeth. Not a plea. An order.

She nodded once. Eyes wild. Cheeks flushed. She didn’t speak. Didn’t trust herself to. Her fist tightened on him and every thought he had burned out at once.

He hauled her off the crate. Feet barely hit. Dragged her three steps to the loading ledge. A thigh-high concrete step, a foot and a half of flat before the drop into the bay. Cold. Grit on it. He shoved her skirt up to her waist and hoisted her onto it. Bare thighs hit and she flinched at the chill biting straight into skin. Legs forced open around his hips. Skirt rucked and twisted at her waist. Shirt hanging off one shoulder. His pants shoved down just enough. Skin to skin where it counted. Cloth and sweat everywhere else.

He lined up. Pushed. The head caught. She was tight. Dripping. He drove in. One brutal stroke. All the way. Her whole body locked. A sound climbed her throat—high, broken—and he yanked her forward and crushed her face into his shoulder. The cry died there. Wet against his shirt. Her teeth found muscle and bit down. He took it.

He fucked her like that. Seated on the lip. Nothing behind her but a foot of concrete and then air. Each thrust shoved her back toward the drop. Her hands scrabbled on the ledge beside her hips, nails scraping grit, palms skidding. One fist closed on his hip and held. His left hand already clamped under her thigh, fingers sunk deep. She tipped anyway. Her back went past the edge, weight dragging on his grip and his cock, her cunt clamping down in panic, and he hooked his other hand under her and hauled her back onto him. The wet clap of it. Loud. Too loud. He pressed in closer and sealed it between their bodies.

Her heels locked behind his thighs. Dug in. Holding on. Every stroke pulled her onto him and every stroke tried to throw her off. She rode it. Hips rolling. Chasing. He shoved his face into her tits, mouth open on her skin, sucking a mark there, and she jammed her own forearm between her teeth. Bit down. He heard it anyway—short, strangled bursts through skin. He came up and she dropped her face into his shoulder and the next one died there. Her hand came up to clamp over her own mouth and he dragged it away and pinned the wrist to the concrete beside her hip. Fucked her harder for it. Her bare thighs scraped raw on the gritted edge. Her nails raked his back through the shirt. No words. Just the clutch of her around him, slick and greedy, and the salt of her sweat still on his tongue from where his mouth had been. The soaked cotton of her panties was twisted hard against her hip, the slick running out of her pooling on the concrete under her, and every time he slammed in she skidded an inch closer to the drop. He didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Mind gone. Only the drive to bury himself, again, again, until she broke on him.

Boots scuffed closer outside the bay door. A laugh. Metal on metal.

Orion snarled without sound. Pulled out. She whimpered into his collar—tiny, ruined. He fisted her hair and dragged her down off the ledge to her feet. Spun her by the hip. Shoved her chest-down over the lip. Her ribs hit the concrete and the breath went out of her in one hard rush, her head hanging past the edge toward the drop. He kicked her feet wider. Skirt still rucked. Panties stretched aside, soaked dark. His cock slid wet along the crease of her ass, slipped, dragged through her folds before it found her. He leaned over her back, wrenched her head back and sideways by the hair until her cheek ground into the grit at the edge, and barred his forearm across her mouth. Elbow planted on the concrete beside her face. Solid. Nowhere for the sound to go.

He sank in. From behind. The head of his cock dragged her front wall now, deep, blunt, and she jolted like he’d hit a nerve. A sharp gasp tried to get out. He clamped his arm down. Crushed it into skin and sleeve. Her teeth closed on him through the cotton. Her moan vibrated there, swallowed, useless to anyone listening.

He took her. Short, vicious strokes that knocked the air out of her and drove it back into his arm. Hips slamming. Flesh on flesh. Sweat ran down his back. Down hers. Her cunt gripped him, fluttering, pulling. He felt every clench. Every tremble starting in her thighs.

“Mine now,” he growled into her ear. “Or dead. Pick.” She tried to answer. Lips working against his arm. A word—his name, a curse, he couldn’t tell—and it came apart into his sleeve, nothing but breath and teeth and spit. He rammed in and whatever it was died.

She was close. He knew it in the way she shook. The way her back bowed. The way her muffled cries turned frantic against his skin, rhythm breaking, hips shoving back to take him deeper.

He gave it. Drove in and stayed, grinding, then hammered again. Blind. His balls drew up tight. The pull started low, dragging at the base of his cock. He held it. Barely. Teeth bared. Breath harsh in her hair.

She broke first.

The clench hit all at once. Sudden. Violent. Her whole body locked around his cock and shook. Her cunt pulsed on him, each spasm clamping harder than the last, dragging at him, refusing to let go. A raw sound tore out of her and she bit down on his forearm to kill it—hard, through the sleeve, jaw locked, saliva and heat and the full force of it going into his arm instead of the air. Her legs trembled. Her cunt milked him, over and over, no mercy.

That did it.

He came with her. No choice. The grip ripped it out of him. He buried deep and spilled, hips jerking, cock throbbing, heat flooding her in thick pulses while she still clenched and shook around him. She gripped so tight his cum pushed back out around his cock, running hot down his balls. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his arm still barred across her mouth. A groan ripped up and he bit it off against her skin. Teeth in her. Sound gone. Only the shudder. Only the spill. Only both of them wrecked on the same brutal surge, locked, sweating, half-clothed and filthy with it.

It ebbed slow. His cock still inside her, twitching. Her breath hitching wet against his sleeve. Cum and slick leaking where they joined, sliding down her thigh.

Boots. Right outside. A hand on the door.

Orion pulled out. Fast. She made a small sound and strangled it before it finished. He yanked her upright. She staggered two steps back and caught herself against the crate. Skirt dragged down. Shirt tugged over her chest, crooked, gaping, nothing left to close it. The bra still a rucked band under her breasts—no time to fix it. His cock shoved back into his pants. Zip. Belt. Her hair a mess. A dark wet patch on his collar where her mouth had been. The bite on his forearm welting red under the sleeve. A button on the concrete.

Papers on the floor. His. Her eyes cut to them. Then to him. Still flushed. Still wanting. No time.

The door started to open.

He stepped in front of her. Shoulder to the gap. Voice flat. Steady. Nothing like the animal still pounding in his blood.

“Clear,” he said.

Behind him, he heard her palm slap the crate. Grip. Hold. He knew what was running down her thigh. He’d put it there. Seconds. That was all they had. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He could still feel her clench.