Rough Ledge Passion Unleashed

He grabbed the front of my shirt first, not my hips, not my face — the shirt, like it had personally offended him. Fabric ripped at the collar. I heard a button hit the floor and skitter somewhere I’d never find it. I didn’t care. My hands were already at his belt, yanking it open in one hard pull, fingers clumsy with how fast I wanted this over and started at the same time.

“Hurry up,” he growled against my jaw, and I bit back something ugly and shoved his shirt off his shoulders instead, dragging it down his arms until it caught at his wrists and he had to wrench a hand free to finish the job himself, ripping the rest off and letting it drop somewhere behind him. His mouth was on my neck, not gentle, teeth scraping skin, and I hated how much I wanted more of it.

I got his belt loose and yanked his jeans open. He shoved my skirt up around my waist in one rough pull, hooked two fingers under the waistband of my underwear and tore it half off my hip instead of taking the time to slide it down, leaving it hanging twisted around one thigh. I gasped at the sting, at the sound of fabric giving. Neither of us said anything about it. There wasn’t time for words that weren’t commands.

“Get on the ledge,” Thor snarled, voice low and gravel-rough, right against my ear, one hand already gripping my waist to haul me up onto it.

The metal hit my bare skin and it was shockingly cold, a jolt straight through me, and I hissed through my teeth as I settled onto the edge, thighs spread wide over it, my palms flat against the surface to keep from sliding. For one frozen beat I just sat there straddling it, exposed, half my clothes hanging off me, and Thor stood between my knees looking at me like he hated every inch of my face and wanted to devour it anyway. Neither of us moved. His chest was heaving. Mine was too. The cold of the ledge seeped up into me while the heat radiating off him made everything else feel too warm, too close.

Then he grabbed my hips. I let go of the ledge, hands coming up to grip his forearms instead, and he spun me so fast the world tilted, yanked my hips back until my feet found the floor again and my ass was out, upper body forced down, hands braced flat against the metal, forearms taking the rest of my weight. My cheek nearly touched the cold surface. I turned my head, breathing hard, waiting.

“Stay there,” he ordered. I heard the rasp of him shoving his jeans down further, felt his hand push my ruined underwear aside, and then he pushed his cock straight into me from behind in one deep, unbroken thrust. The stretch of it punched the air out of my lungs. My fingers curled against the ledge, nails scraping metal.

He didn’t wait for me to adjust. He started moving immediately, hips slamming forward, and the drag of him inside me was so full, so relentless, that my knees nearly buckled. “Take it,” he said, voice gravelly, biting off each word. “Don’t move. Just take every inch.”

I made a sound that wasn’t a word, just air forced out of me on impact. Each thrust drove my hips against the edge of the ledge, the metal biting into my stomach hard enough that I knew there’d be a mark. Skin slapped against skin, wet and loud, and I felt every inch of him drag against nerve endings I didn’t know I had until right then.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. “Push back on it. Now.”

I did. I rocked my ass back to meet him, whimpering when the angle changed and he went deeper, and my whole body jerked forward from the force of it. My arms started shaking. Sweat broke out along my spine, at the back of my neck, slicking the place where his stomach met my lower back on every downstroke. The rhythm built, faster, harder, the slap of skin turning into something almost violent, my knuckles going white where I gripped the ledge to keep from being shoved clean off it.

Thor leaned over me, chest pressed briefly to my back, one hand sliding off my hip and up along my ribs, fingers finding the corner of my mouth. “Open.”

I parted my lips on a broken breath and he pushed two fingers inside, salt and skin on my tongue, while he kept fucking me from behind without missing a stroke. “Suck. Show me you want it.” I did, moaning around his fingers, the sound muffled and desperate, and he groaned low in his throat like the noise had done something to him.

The pace got faster, heavier, less controlled. My legs shook from holding the position, thighs burning, the cold metal edge now slick with sweat under my palms. He didn’t let up, didn’t slow, every thrust punching a fresh gasp out of me before I could finish the last one. I tried to say something — his name, a curse, I don’t even know — and it came out in pieces, garbled, swallowed by my own ragged breathing.

“Come on it,” he commanded, voice wrecked now too. “Do it now.”

My orgasm hit sharp and sudden, locking through my hips and up my body, every muscle seizing around him at once. He pulled his fingers from my mouth, dragged his wet hand into my hair, and fisted it there, hauling me upright against his chest, my back curving into him, hips never breaking rhythm. He turned my head to the side, jaw catching my jaw, and pressed his mouth hard against the corner of mine, teeth grazing, tongue pushing past my lips at the awkward angle, messy and hungry and half-turned. I tasted him, tasted myself, felt the scrape of his stubble while my body locked rigid around his cock, his hips still driving up into me from behind, grinding deep, not giving me a second to come down before pushing me right back up.

He broke away, pressing my shoulders back down so I folded forward over the ledge again, and came right after, buried to the hilt, body jerking hard against my back, a rough sound tearing out of his throat. We stayed locked like that for a few seconds, his forehead against the back of my head, both of us breathing like we’d run somewhere.

Then he pulled out and stepped back, fast, like touching me a second longer than necessary was a mistake he refused to make twice. I straightened up, wincing, and reached down to pull the torn underwear all the way down my leg, bending to scoop it off the floor before it caught on my ankle, then pulled my skirt back down. Thor was already zipping his jeans, jaw tight, not looking at me, bending to scoop his shirt off the floor and shrug it back on.

“Don’t read anything into that,” he said, flat, cold.

“Wasn’t planning to,” I snapped back, shoving my ruined underwear into my pocket so he wouldn’t see my hands weren’t steady. “Get out of my way.”

He did, shoulder catching mine hard on his way past, and neither of us said another word.