His lips lift off your skin, brows furrowing at the sheer neediness in your voice. “Okay, okay, please Steve enough, I need your cock baby, I need it.” He ignores your attempts to grind on him, plush lips finding the curve of your throat, sucking another bruise on your skin. His thick cock shifts between your legs, resting on your pussy. You never hated two words more in your entire life. Steve lays his large muscular body on top of you, his firm chest pressing into your damp skin. Tears burn your eyes, you can’t even rub your thighs together for relief, the deep ache in your cunt pulsing faster and faster. Steve keeps murmuring, “just a second Darlin, almost done.” You’re hoarse from begging him to put his mouth on your pussy. Bruises blooming across your skin, his lips attaching to you, sucking and kissing and biting. It’s been hours of him worshiping your body, his beard dragging over your inner thighs until you’re drenched. Sweat beads along the soft planes of your body, your mouth slack, soft wheezing gasps slipping through your lips. This is why you’re currently splayed on the bed, wearing his dog tags with your wrists bound above your head. Steve wants -needs- you to carry remnants of him on you and in you. The same way you feel him in your cunt long after he’s done fucking you so good you almost blackout, he wants you to feel him on your skin. Oh no, the marks he leaves behind are for you and only you. It’s not even because he’s possessive, he’s confident in the fact that the world knows you belong to him. It manifests in the primal urge to mark your pretty skin.
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