Price who pins you down with that heavy meaty weight of his body, thick cock buried deep inside, stretching your cunt open so good just like he used to. Got one of your thighs shoved up against your chest, fingers digging into the soft spill of your flesh, slow grinding of his hips dragging broken whimpers out of your throat that you hate yourself for making.
Years. Fucking years he was gone, vanished like smoke, and the second you finally started piecing yourself back together, he showed up at your door with that same damn cigar between clenched teeth and (cruel) blue eyes that always saw too much.
“Missed this tight cunt,” he grunts, voice rough as honeyed gravel, beard scraping your neck as he bites down, sucking a fresh mark into your skin. “Knew you’d still open up for me.”
You whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders, half pushing him away and half pulling him closer. He feels it, chuckles low, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours as he grinds deeper, the fat head of his cock kissing that spot that makes your vision spark white.
“Shh, easy love,” he murmurs, all honey and smoke, the manipulative bastard. One big hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing into your bottom lip to keep your mouth open for him, dirty fingers pushing down onto your slick tongue. “Don’t fight it. You were never good at pretending you didn’t need this.” and you hear the need me go unsaid, implied.
He pulls out almost all the way, just the tip stretching your slick hole, then slams back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. “Look at you. Already creaming on my cock again. Bet no one else could make you this wet, could they?”
His pace picks up, heavy balls slapping against you with every thrust, the wet obscene sound of it filling the room alongside your desperate gasps. He’s watching your face the whole time- hungry, possessive, a little mean.
Trying so hard to ignore the look in his eyes that says he knows exactly how much he wrecked you when he left, and exactly how easily he can do it again.