Showing no mercy

The rhythm wasn't frantic. It was punishingly steady.

I held her firmly by the hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, anchoring her as I drove into her. Each thrust was a collision. I lifted her slightly with every upward stroke, impaling her on my length, and let gravity bring her back down as I withdrew.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The sound of our bodies meeting was wet and loud, echoing off the stone walls of the abandoned garden.

Megara’s head was thrown back, her ponytail swinging wildly with every impact. Her neck was arched, exposing the pale, damp skin of her throat to the sun. She wasn't making pretty sounds anymore. She was gasping, guttural, raw noises that were torn from her chest.

"Gods... Ray..." she choked out, her heels digging into the small of my back. "It’s... too deep... you're hitting... everything..."

"I told you," I gritted out, watching her face twist in pleasure. "I'm not here to play nice."

I adjusted my grip, moving one hand from her hip to the back of her head. I grabbed her thick hair, wrapping it around my fist. I pulled gently but firmly, forcing her to look at me.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, swimming in a violet haze. Her lipstick was smudged, her cheeks flushed a dark crimson.

"Who is inside you, Meg?" I demanded, driving deep and grinding my hips against hers.

"You..." she hissed, her eyes rolling back as I hit a particularly sensitive spot. "You are..."

"And where is the hero?"

She laughed, a breathless, broken sound. "Who cares?"

That was the answer I wanted.

I increased the pace. The friction was incredible. She was so tight, clamping down on me with every inch of her internal muscles, trying to milk me dry. The heat between our groins was searing, a mix of sweat and fluids that made us stick together and slide apart in a messy, perfect cycle.

I could see the rough bark of the olive tree scraping against her bare back with every thrust. It had to sting, but she didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did, and the bite of the wood just grounded her in the reality of it.

"You like the rough edges, don't you?" I growled, letting go of her hair to grab her breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

"Yes!" she wailed, abandoning all pretense of cool detachment. "Harder! Don't you dare go gentle on me!"

I obliged.

I stopped lifting her. instead, I pinned her flat against the tree with my body weight and began to piston into her with short, brutal strokes. I targeted that spot I had found with my fingers earlier, hammering it relentlessly.

Megara’s body went rigid. Her legs tightened around my waist like a vice, her ankles locking together so hard I thought she might bruise my kidneys.

"I'm close..." she panted, her hands clawing at my shoulders, **** for purchase. "I'm... oh, Hades, I'm falling..."

"Don't fall," I commanded, leaning in to bite her earlobe. "Shatter."

I slammed into her, one final, deep thrust, and held it there, grinding my pelvis against her clitoris.

She screamed. It wasn't a word, just a pure, high-pitched cry of release. Her inner walls spasmed violently, clamping around my cock like a fist. I felt her orgasm ripple through her, wave after wave of intense contractions that tried to drag everything out of me.

She shook in my arms, her head lolling forward onto my shoulder, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. She was completely undone. The cynical, guarded woman was gone, replaced by a trembling mess of satisfaction.

I held her there, keeping her pinned to the tree, letting her ride out the aftershocks. I stayed deep inside her, enjoying the feeling of her pulsing around me. I wasn't done yet, not by a long shot, but I let her have her moment.

"Heavy..." she mumbled into my coat, her voice slurring. "So heavy."

"We're just getting started, Meg," I whispered, running my hand down her sweat-slicked back.