Chapter 1: Cracking the Stone
The barn smelled of hay and secrets, the kind that cling to your skin long after you’ve left the shadows. I straddled Jack, my thighs burning with the effort, my body slick with sweat as I rode him on that creaky wooden chair. His hands were clenched at his sides, white-knuckled, as if letting go would mean losing himself entirely. He was a statue of control, all hard lines and gritted teeth, save for the occasional grunt that slipped out like a traitor. His eyes rolled back now and then, but otherwise, he refused to look at me. Refused to acknowledge the fire between us.
‘Come on, Jack,’ I taunted, my voice sharp as a whip, cutting through the humid air. ‘You gonna pretend you’re not here? Not feeling this?’ I bounced harder, the wet slap of my skin against his echoing in the empty barn, daring anyone—or anything—to hear us. I didn’t care. We were far enough from the house, from prying eyes. I could scream if I wanted to. And hell, I might.
He cleared his throat, a low rumble, but said nothing. His silence was a wall, and I was determined to smash it to pieces. I leaned in closer, my breath hot against his ear. ‘You’re hard as steel, cousin. I can feel it. Stop acting like you’re above this.’ My words were a blade, slicing at his restraint. I saw the flicker in his jaw, the way his gaze darted everywhere but at me. Was he afraid looking into my eyes would break him? That seeing his own hunger reflected back would be the end of him?
‘Shut up, Lila,’ he finally growled, his voice rough as the gravel outside. But there was no venom in it, just a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. I smirked, slowing my rhythm, letting him feel the ghost of my heat as I hovered just above him, his tip barely inside me. His eyes snapped to mine then, a storm of frustration and raw need brewing in those dark depths.
‘Problem, Jack?’ I teased, dipping down just enough to envelop a little more of his rock-hard cock before pulling back again. His breath hitched, a sound so small yet so telling. I watched the war play out on his face—shame wrestling with desire, fear tangling with hunger. ‘You want me to stop? Or do you want to stop pretending?’
His lips curled into something feral, a snarl of defeat. ‘Fine, fuck you,’ he spat, the words dripping with a darkness I couldn’t quite place. Was it anger at me for pushing him here, or at himself for not walking away? Before I could decide, his hands—calloused and rough from years of fieldwork—grabbed my hips with a force that made me gasp. He yanked me down, thrusting up into me with a desperation that stole the air from my lungs.
‘That’s it,’ I hissed, my voice a mix of triumph and challenge as he drove into me, each movement punishing, relentless. My pussy clenched around him, wet and dripping with the thrill of breaking him open. His panting matched mine now, the barn air thick with the scent of us, of sweat and raw, unfiltered need. I could feel him losing it, the last threads of his control snapping as he fucked me like a man starved, his cock pulsing with every brutal thrust.
I threw my head back, a moan tearing from my throat, loud enough to rattle the old wood around us. Let him hear it. Let him know I wasn’t just some task to be endured. I was the storm he couldn’t outrun, and I was just getting started.
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