Simon Riley shoved you face-first into the cheap motel mattress, his gloved hand fisting the back of your neck. "Stay the fuck down," he growled, voice low and scraped raw from years of barking orders. He didn't bother with slow undressing. His belt clinked once, zipper rasped, and then the thick head of his cock was already nudging between your ass cheeks, smearing pre-cum over your hole.
He spat once, rubbed it in with two fingers, and pushed inside without warning. You gasped, body stretching around the blunt invasion, but he just grunted and kept going until his hips were flush against your ass. "Tight little cunt's sucking me in already. Knew you'd be a whore for it."
Riley fucked like he fought: hard, relentless, no mercy. Each thrust slammed you forward, the cheap bed frame creaking under the force. His tactical pants were still around his thighs, boots planted wide. One gloved hand stayed on your hip, the other reached under to pinch your clit hard enough to make you yelp. "That's it. Scream for Ghost. Let the whole fucking floor hear what a slut you are."
He pulled out only to flip you onto your back, yanking your legs over his shoulders.
The mask stayed on, skull print staring down while his bare cock drove back in, balls slapping wetly against your ass. Sweat dripped from under the fabric onto your chest. He leaned in, voice muffled but filthy. "Gonna fill this pussy up. Breed you like the cock-hungry bitch you are."
Your hands clawed at his vest, but he didn't slow. He pounded faster, angle hitting that spot inside that made your vision blur. "Come on it," he ordered. "Now." Your orgasm hit sharp and sudden, walls clamping down, and he groaned low, hips stuttering as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep inside. He stayed buried, grinding through the aftershocks, making sure every drop stayed put.
Riley didn't pull out right away. He rested his weight on you, breathing heavy, mask brushing your temple. "Not done yet," he muttered, already starting to harden again inside the mess he'd made. "Gonna use this hole till you can't walk straight." His gloved thumb pushed cum back in when it tried to leak out, then he started moving again, slower this time but just as deep, each stroke deliberate and filthy.
By the time he finally finished the second round, you were shaking, thighs slick and marked from his grip. He wiped his cock on your inner thigh, tucked himself away, and lit a cigarette like nothing had happened. "Same time tomorrow," he said, voice flat. "Don't be late." The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you wrecked and dripping on the sheets.
