Hospital Debauchery-Chapter 197: The Bride V

Devon carried her into the bathroom like she was something sacred and profane all at once, arms locked beneath her thighs and shoulder.

Each footfall forced a fresh pulse of their mixed release to ooze out around his shaft, thick, creamy ropes sliding down the inside of her trembling thighs in slow, obscene rivulets that cooled instantly against her overheated skin before dripping onto the floor.

The air was already thick with lingering steam from some earlier shower, curling lazily around them like cigarette smoke in a speakeasy.

Serena’s arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck her fingers had gone bloodless.

She clung to him like a woman possessed by something darker than love, legs locked high around his waist, ankles crossed, heels digging hard into the small of his back as though she could fuse their bodies together forever.

Her face was buried in the damp curve of his neck, lips moving nonstop—tiny, frantic kisses, soft licks, little nips that made him shiver and his cock jerk inside her.

Every breath she exhaled was his name, whispered like a prayer, a curse, a confession.

"Devon... Devon... Devon..."

She had forgotten the wedding dress lying in a ruined heap on the bedroom floor like a corpse.

Forgotten the cold weight of the diamond on her left hand.

Forgotten the hundreds of guests downstairs still laughing and toasting to a marriage that had been violated before the cake was even cut.

Forgotten Ethan.

Forgotten Eleanor’s worried footsteps retreating down the hall only minutes ago.

All of it—obliterated.

There was only this man, this cock still stretching her open, this heartbeat thundering against her own like it was trying to rewrite her rhythm forever.

Devon set her down on the wide, veined marble counter beside the sunken tub with deliberate slowness.

The shock of cold stone against her overheated, cum-slick skin tore a sharp, broken gasp from her throat, but the sound melted into a low, filthy moan when he stayed buried inside her, rolling his hips in a slow, lazy, possessive circle that ground the fat, leaking crown of his cock against her cervix and made her clit throb helplessly against the coarse hair at his base.

He lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.

They were pitch black, endless, devastatingly possessive. Water droplets still clung to his lashes, a bead of sweat traced down his temple, over the sharp cut of his cheekbone, hung on the edge of his stubbled jaw, and finally fell onto her breast, rolling over one bruised, bitten nipple like liquid sin.

"Look at me, baby," he murmured.

"Look at who owns this pussy. Who you crawl back to every time you pretend to be someone else’s wife."

Serena’s breath fractured.

Fresh tears welled, but they weren’t from fear anymore.

They were something rawer, deeper, more terrifying. She surged forward, crushing her mouth to his, kissing him like she was starving and he was the only meal left on earth.

Her tongue slid against his, messy and desperate, tasting salt and sex and him.

She kissed him until her lips were swollen all over again, until the only sounds in the room were the wet, filthy slide of their mouths, the soft, rhythmic squelch of his cock shifting inside her soaked, cum-stuffed cunt, and the faint drip-drip-drip of water from the showerhead they hadn’t even turned on yet.

When they finally broke apart, a thick, glistening string of saliva connected their lips for a long, obscene second before it snapped.

Serena’s chest heaved, her nipples were hard, dark, aching peaks against his chest, smeared with their earlier mess.

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with raw, aching need.

"I want you again," she breathed, forehead pressed to his, nose brushing his, tears and shower water mixing on her cheeks. "I need to feel you inside me again."

"All of you. Every inch. Every vein. I need you to fill me up until I can’t remember my own name."

Devon’s smile was slow, dark, devastating.

"Greedy little bride," he rasped, thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip.

"Thought you’d never ask."

He lifted her off the counter effortlessly, hands sliding under her thighs, spreading her wider as he carried her toward the enormous glass-walled shower.

The motion drove him deeper, she whimpered, nails digging bloody crescents into his shoulders.

He reached back with one hand and twisted the handle.

A low, powerful roar filled the room as the rainfall showerhead came to life, steaming water cascading over them both in seconds, turning their sweat and cum and tears into warm, filthy rivers that ran down their joined bodies, over her bruised tits, down the trembling plane of her belly, over the place where his cock disappeared into her again and again.

He pressed her back to the cool tile wall, water sluicing between them in hot, relentless sheets, and began to move.

Slow.

God, so achingly, torturously slow.

Long, languid strokes that dragged every inch of his cock through her sensitive, cum-soaked walls, the thick head kissing her cervix on every gentle thrust like a promise.

Serena’s head fell back against the tile with a soft thud, mouth open on silent, shattered cries as the hot water poured over her throat, her collarbones, her breasts, her belly, the place where they were joined.

His hands cradled her ass, lifting her, angling her, controlling every inch of penetration until she was trembling uncontrollably, until her thighs shook around his hips, until she was begging in broken little whispers that echoed off the glass like a hymn.

"Devon... please... more... deeper... I need—"

He gave her more.

Still slow, but deeper now, harder, each thrust rolling through her like a wave, making her toes curl against his back, making her walls flutter and clench around him like a desperate fist. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Water streamed down his broad shoulders, over the flexing muscles of his ass, down to where his heavy, cum-slick balls pressed and released against her with every stroke.

Serena’s arms looped around his neck again, fingers tangling in his soaked hair, pulling him into another desperate, devouring kiss as he fucked her slow and deep and loving, like he was trying to imprint himself on her soul, like every thrust was a vow written in flesh.

Minutes blurred—maybe ten, maybe thirty, maybe a lifetime—until he pulled out just long enough to spin her around. He bent her forward gently but firmly, hands bracing on the marble bench, water pounding over the elegant curve of her back, running in rivulets down her spine, between her spread ass cheeks, over her swollen, gaping pussy lips that still wept his cum.

He slid back in from behind in one smooth, possessive thrust that made them both groan long and low, the sound swallowed by the roar of the water.

This angle was different.

Deeper.

He fucked her like that, slow and steady at first, one hand splayed over her lower belly, feeling himself move inside her—the obscene bulge beneath her skin whenever he bottomed out, the way her womb cradled his cockhead like it was made for it—the other sliding up to cup a dripping, bruised breast, rolling her nipple between slick fingers until it was a hard, aching peak that made her sob.

Serena’s moans echoed off the glass walls, high and wrecked and utterly shameless.

The water made everything slippery, filthy, perfect.

Every thrust sent water splashing in wild arcs, sent her breath hitching, sent fresh slick pouring down her thighs to mix with the shower and his earlier loads in creamy, swirling patterns on the tile.

He picked up speed gradually, hips rolling, driving into her with long, punishing strokes that made her heavy tits swing like pendulums, made her fingers scrabble for purchase on the slick marble, made her back arch so beautifully he had to bite down on her shoulder to stop himself from coming too soon.

The sound of wet skin on wet skin filled the room, obscene and rhythmic, punctuated by her broken cries and his low, guttural groans that vibrated through her spine.

She came like that—bent over, face turned to the side, cheek pressed to cool marble, mouth open on a silent scream as her pussy clamped down around him in violent, rolling waves, milking him in rhythmic pulses that left her shaking so hard he had to hold her up.

Devon buried his face in her wet hair, inhaled the scent of her shampoo and their sex, and kept fucking her through it, drawing it out until she was sobbing his name, until the pleasure bordered on pain and then tipped over into something transcendent, something holy and unholy all at once.

When the aftershocks finally faded, he pulled out, turned her again, and lifted her clean off the ground.

Her back hit the fogged glass wall with a wet slap, legs wrapped high around his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders like vines.

He slid back in with one slow, deliberate thrust that made them both groan long and low, the sound swallowed by the shower.

Face to face now.

Water pouring over them in steaming sheets.

Eyes locked, inches apart, breath mingling.

He fucked her like that—slow, deep, romantic, every thrust a promise, a confession, a claim.

His forehead rested against hers, noses brushing, lips barely touching, just breathing each other in as he moved inside her, filling her over and over again with long, tender strokes that somehow still felt filthy because of how completely she surrendered, how eagerly her body opened for him, how perfectly she took every inch like she was molded for his cock and his cock alone.

Serena’s hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, his jaw, tracing the water droplets like she was memorizing him.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth, the words torn out of her like a confession she’d been holding back for years.

"God help me, I love you. I never stopped. I never will. I’m yours. Always yours."

Devon’s only answer was to kiss her again—deep, consuming, claiming, tongue fucking her mouth the way his cock was fucking her cunt—and to thrust harder, faster, until the glass fogged completely around them and her second orgasm crashed through her, softer this time, but deeper, rolling through her in endless, devastating waves that left her shaking and clinging and crying into his mouth, tears mixing indistinguishably with the shower water.

He followed moments later, burying himself to the root and coming with a low, broken groan that vibrated through her entire body.

His cock pulsed hard, flooding her again with thick, hot spurts that painted her insides white, spurt after spurt after spurt, until she was so full it leaked out around him in creamy rivulets the water couldn’t quite wash away, until her womb felt heavy and claimed and perfect.

They stayed like that for a long, long time—locked together, trembling, water cooling around them—until their breathing finally slowed and the world came back into focus.

Eventually, Devon reached back and killed the shower.

The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the soft drip-drip-drip from the showerhead and their own ragged breathing.

He wrapped her in an enormous, plush towel, dried her gently, reverently—kissing every bruise, every bite mark, every fingerprint he’d left on her skin like he was worshipping the evidence of his claim.

She let him, boneless and pliant, eyes never leaving his face, lips parted in quiet awe.

He carried her back into the bedroom, laid her on the one dry corner of the bed where the sheets weren’t completely destroyed, and tucked her against his chest.

She curled into him immediately—leg thrown possessively over his thigh, arm draped across his stomach, face pressed to the hollow of his throat like she couldn’t bear even an inch of space between them.

They dozed—minutes, maybe an hour—limbs tangled, hearts slowing, the room quiet except for their breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Then Devon pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead and carefully disentangled himself.

"Stay here," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction and something dangerously close to tenderness.

"I’ll get us water."

Serena made a small, distressed sound when he moved away, fingers clutching at his arm for a second before letting go.

She watched him pull on a pair of loose black sweatpants—commando, the thick, half-hard outline of his cock still visible against the fabric—and pad barefoot toward the door.

He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, pulling the door almost shut behind him, leaving just a sliver of golden light spilling onto the carpet.

He had taken no more than four silent steps when a figure appeared at the end of the corridor, backlit by the soft glow of a wall sconce.

Marianne.

She stopped a few feet away, head tilted, eyes narrowed withand a deep bone chilling frown forming across her face.

"What are you doing here?"