Thirty Days To Ruin

Chapter 4: Every Drop of You

Alexander’s fingers moved slowly between Elena’s thighs, gathering the thick, warm mess he had left inside her. He pushed two fingers back into her swollen p***y, curling them deep, scooping his own c*m and spreading it over her c**t in lazy, deliberate circles. The wet sound was soft and filthy in the quiet morning light.

“Listen to that,” he murmured against her temple. His voice was low, rough, still thick with possession. “That’s me leaking out of you. Every time you shift, more of it slips down your thighs. I want you to feel it all day.”

Elena’s breath hitched. Her wrists were free now, but she kept them above her head on the pillow, too spent and oversensitive to move. His fingers worked her with maddening patience—pushing in, dragging out, coating her folds until she was slick and glistening again. The scent of s*x hung heavy in the room: musk, sweat, the faint copper edge of her earlier virginity, and the deeper, saltier smell of him.

He rolled her onto her back once more and settled between her spread legs. His c**k was already hard again, heavy and flushed, the head shiny with the mixture of their earlier releases. He dragged it up and down her slit, coating himself thoroughly, the wet glide audible with every slow stroke.

“Watch,” he ordered.

Elena looked down. She watched the thick head of him part her folds and sink in, inch by inch, stretching her open again. The burn was softer now, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that made her toes curl. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against hers, and stayed there, throbbing inside her.

“You’re still so tight,” he said, almost in wonder. “Even after I ruined this p***y twice already. Feel how you squeeze me?”

He started to move—slow, deep, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Each time he pulled back, she could hear the thick, slick sound of his c**k leaving her body, followed by the heavier push as he drove home again. Her breasts swayed with the rhythm. He leaned down and took one n****e into his mouth, sucking hard while his hips kept that steady, punishing pace.

Elena’s hands finally moved, clutching at his shoulders. Her nails dug in. The dual sensation—hot mouth on her breast, thick c**k stretching her open—built the pressure fast. She could feel every ridge of him, every pulse, the way the head of his c**k kissed her cervix on the deepest strokes. Wetness leaked around him with every thrust, running down the cleft of her ass onto the silk sheets.

“That’s it,” he growled against her breast. “Soak me. I want this bed ruined with us.”

He shifted his angle, grinding against her c**t on every inward stroke. The friction was perfect, relentless. Elena came with a broken cry, walls clamping down hard around him. He didn’t stop. He f****d her through it, chasing the aftershocks until her thighs trembled and she was whimpering from overstimulation.

Only then did he pull out. A thick rush of their combined release followed, dripping from her open, swollen p***y. Alexander watched it for a long moment, eyes dark with satisfaction. Then he gathered the mess with three fingers and pushed it back inside her, slow and thorough.

“Every drop stays in,” he said. “Until I decide otherwise.”

He flipped her onto her stomach with easy strength, pulling her hips up so she was on her knees, face pressed into the pillow. His hand landed on her ass in a sharp, stinging spank. The sound cracked through the room. Heat bloomed across her skin. Another spank followed, then another, until both cheeks burned and she was rocking back toward his hand without meaning to.

“This is for thinking you could give this body to strangers,” he said between strikes. His palm smoothed over the heated flesh, then struck again. “For walking into that club ready to let seven men use you. You’re mine now. Every hole. Every orgasm. Every remaining day.”

When her ass was properly pink and stinging, he lined himself up again. This time he pushed into her from behind in one smooth, deep thrust. The new angle made her cry out. He f****d her harder, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. The wet, rhythmic slap of his hips against her sore ass filled the air. She could feel the thick, slick mess of earlier orgasms being f****d back into her with every stroke.

Alexander reached around and found her c**t, rubbing tight, relentless circles while he drove into her. Elena came again, harder this time, walls fluttering and clenching around him. He followed with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing deep inside her, adding more of himself to the mess.

He stayed locked inside her for a long time afterward, breathing hard against the back of her neck. When he finally pulled out, he watched the thick white spill of his c*m drip from her used p***y. Then he leaned down and licked a slow stripe through the mess, tasting them both, before gathering her into his arms and carrying her toward the bathroom.

The shower was large, glass-walled, already steaming. He set her on her feet under the hot spray and washed her himself—slow, thorough, possessive. His hands soaped every inch of her: the marks on her wrists, the faint bruises on her hips, the still-swollen folds between her thighs. When his fingers slipped inside her again under the water, she moaned and leaned into him.

“We’re not done,” he murmured against her wet hair. “You’re staying in this penthouse today. I’ll handle the firm. We’ll deal with the doctors later. But first I’m going to feed you, and then I’m going to put you back on your knees and make you thank me for every load I just left inside you.”

Elena’s eyes fluttered shut as the water ran over them both. Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, her body still throbbed with the memory of him—sore, claimed, dripping, and already aching for more.