Striker

Fuck, it hurt so much. ★ To you, at least. Striker savored every moment he slammed ruthless in and out of you. It hurt so much but fuck, felt so good.

Striker's grip on your hip tightened, leaving a build up of a bruise he could care less about. His other hand wrapped around your face, two fingers shoved in your mouth to keep you quiet.

It only worked because of the tight grip you had on his fingers, most likely drawing blood as your stomach twisted from not letting your pleasures out. Your hands gripped the sheets, almost tearing the fabric.

You knows how long the both of you have been at it, but it's been long. Sweat beads dripping from both of you as you continued to snap your hips together. Tears stained your face and a limp smile was plastered on his. He leaned forward, his mouth brushing against your ear.

"Fuck, such a good slut, hm?" Striker praised, his southern accent mixing well with his low tone. "Be quiet now, ain't want nobody hearing ya." He chuckled, a low rumble escaping his chest as he ran kisses along your neck, tracing the curve and leaving marks.