Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 155: Dont Care 18+

Victor’s jaw was set so tight she half expected to hear his teeth crack. He’d never looked quite this what, frazzled? Angry? No, not angry. Hungry, he was hungry. Not for the cake, not for the lollipop, not for the arguments circling through the next room. For her, exclusively.

He moved with purpose, and she ended up square in the middle of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, Victor didn’t touch her at first, just hovered there, breathing like he’d sprinted a mile uphill. His gaze ran over her, top to bottom and back, cataloguing damage, wanting.

She opened her mouth to ask him if he was okay, but her tongue got stuck on the roof of her mouth. She could feel his heat from where he stood, that static, burning presence that always made her toes curl inside her socks.

He knelt in front of her, hands bracing against the mattress on either side of her thighs, he leaned in.

"You’re not listening it’s going to get you hurt," he said, voice low, voice rough, voice for her.

"I’m not.."

"Not now, don’t talk."

He closed the final inch of space between them his hands went to her waist, cinching her forward so she nearly toppled into his chest, then slid up her spine, slow and spanning her entire back, then into her hair. He cradled her head like he was holding the most breakable thing in the world which, given the competition of leaf team, maybe she was.

His mouth crashed onto hers, all hunger, nothing gentle. Even the air got sucked out of her lungs, pressed in between the taste of lollipop and sugar and something deeper, older than any flavor.

He pulled her closer, all but dragging her off the bed, She gasped into his mouth, and he laughed, just a breath, a growl vibrating out of his throat and into her chest.

She ran her fingers up his collarbone, almost to his jaw, and he deepened the kiss, wild, like he was possessed. He shifted, and the mattress shifted with him, and then one of his knees pressed up between her legs, the pressure sudden, shockingly electric. She froze, but only for a heartbeat, because he was already moving, shamelessly grinding his knee against her pussy, and she couldn’t help it, a tiny squeak and a moan escaped as he pressed her down just so.

He broke the kiss, but didn’t move away. He was panting, but so was she, both of them flushed. His hands cupped her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones, almost reverent.

"Do you have any idea," he said, "what it does to me, to watch them look at you?"

Felicity blinked, her mind still catching up to the sensation between her legs. "I... don’t?"

He grinned, teeth bared. "I should kill all of them."

"You can’t."

"Don’t care."

There was a weird comfort in the way he said it, like he meant every word

Victor’s hands went everywhere, greedy and not pretending at patience. He palmed her ribs, thumbs pressing in enough to leave marks, then found her breast and gripped, almost bruising, and she arched into him. He rewarded her with a bite to her lower lip, hard enough to pinch but never quite break, just enough to remind her that he could.

She barely noticed his free hand drifting down, the slow, hot pressure of callused fingers tracing her thigh, her knee, kept kissing her, swallowing every sound she made. His fingers hooked over her thigh, spread her, then slid between. He didn’t even tease, just pressed two thick fingers into her at once, knuckles deep, and moved them slow, like he was working some kind of knot loose.

She jerked and made a noise, a desperate, wounded sound, and he grinned against her mouth.

"Fuck, listen to you." His breath in her ear, rough and sweet. "You’re dripping. You like this, don’t you?"

She tried to glare at him, but her body gave her away, hips rolling to meet each thrust of his hand. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even think, but the pressure kept building, kept climbing. Every curl of his fingers hit something deeper, something she hadn’t even known was there, and she felt herself unraveling.

"Say it," he said, voice gone guttural. "Tell me who makes you feel like this."

"You, Victor" she gasped, and he gave her breast a squeeze, then twisted his hand inside her, thumb working at her clit. The pleasure was almost mean, almost cruel in its intensity. She clawed at his shoulders, her nails digging crescent moons through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Again," he demanded, each word cutting between the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of her. For a second she thought she’d black out, right there, on his hand.

"Victor!" She bit his name out, almost a sob, nothing left in her except the need to be filled, to be claimed and ruined and put back together.

"That’s right," he growled, biting down on her neck, marking her in the way that would last days, maybe weeks. "They can all hear you, you know." His voice turned sing song, a taunt meant for ghosts "Every last one of them out there, listening to how desperate you are for me."

And she could hear it, too, faint and muffled through the paper thin wall a low, rattling growl, someone pacing, maybe clawing at the door, the sound of Lucan’s jealousy radiating out like a heat lamp. Victor’s fingers didn’t slow, didn’t falter if anything, he pumped harder, faster, and she broke apart completely, clamping around him, riding the wave until her vision went white at the edges.

When she came down, boneless and gasping, she realized Victor was staring at her, wild eyed and panting, his cock straining the front of his pants. He licked his fingers clean, one by one, eyes never leaving her face. She could smell herself on him, musky sweet, and it made her dizzy.

She was still shaking when he stood and shucked his pants, his cock springing free, thick and veined and almost intimidating. She stared, too stunned for shame "so many veins," she heard herself say. "I want to trace each one."

Victor didn’t laugh, just grinned, an animal baring his teeth. "You will." He hauled her up so her knees hit the edge of the mattress, then nudged her legs wider, lining himself up. The head of his cock slid against her, hot and slick. He pushed in slow, not because he was gentle, but because he seemed to want to feel every inch, every second, as if he was memorizing the shape of her. He didn’t stop till he watched himself disappear inside her, his balls hitting her ass.

When their hips met, he shoved her back, pinned her arms above her head with one hand, the other bracing her hip. Then he started moving, each thrust a possessive, deliberate thing, like he was planting a flag in her soul.

"Mine," he growled, low and guttural, and she felt it everywhere, in every cell.

With every thrust, every filthy word, every bruise blooming under his grip, he was writing it into her her body, her mind, her heart, she belonged to him.

There was a commotion in the hallway. Not a polite shuffling, not a what are they doing in there kind of curiosity, but a raw, animal restlessness, the sound of boots thudding, nails scratching against wood, the smallest growls leaking in between the cracks of the door. She felt them her husbands like a pressure system, their presence squeezing the oxygen out of the room.

Victor must have felt it too, because his grip tightened, his rhythm shifting from deliberate to punishing.

She was lost in it, the bright, violent pleasure, until the door banged open so hard it ricocheted off the wall. Four bodies crowded the threshold. She was a mess of screaming moans.

Lucan, hair wild and jaw set, already had his cock out, hand gripping it as he stared at her like he’d drag her into his arms if not held back by the others. "Fuck, bunny you look so good, watch me jerk off watching you."

Damien shouldered past first, feral and luminous, nostrils flaring as if scenting blood, twin cocks standing tall twitching, with pre cum already dripping out.

Voss was quiet, but his gaze was a black pit, obsidian and bottomless, his hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, eyes never leaving Victor’s grip on Felicity.

Ivan, tallest and broadest, stayed in the shadow of the door, face blank except for the tension at the corners of his mouth, like he was holding back a snarl.

Victor didn’t stop, not for a second. Planting a possessive hand on her belly, and turned just enough that the others could see every wet inch where they were joined. He huffed a laugh, all challenge, and his next thrust made her back arch so hard her head nearly snapped. She wanted to hide, wanted to cover her face, but he had her wrists trapped, splayed above her head for everyone to see.

Lucan was the first to break. "You’re a fucking asshole," he said, but his cock twitched in his hand as he pumped himself to the rhythm of Victor’s hips.