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She turned, looking, moving her handcuffed hand—
“Here.” He reached over and moved it from his handcuffed hand to his free hand. And then… “Okay, you can’t actually do this one handed,” he muttered.
She giggled, letting him have her hand so that he could tear open the wrapper and then slide the latex onto himself.
By the time they were rearranged again, he was swearing. “That destroyed the mood.”
“No, it’s there,” she said.
“I don’t—”
“Spread your wings again?”
“You like my wings?”
“They’re fucking wings, Decker.”
“They have little claw-things on the tops—”
“I know.”
He kissed her hard.
She wriggled her finger back to play with her own clit. She started to moan. “Please, now, please.”
He reached down, lined himself up and slid snugly into her.
She cried out.
He moved his hand up to her neck again.
She gasped.
He didn’t cut off her air again. His hand was massive, though, and he splayed out his fingers against her neck, putting pressure against her sternum. “Hold still, then,” he said. “And get fucked.”
She moaned, her finger working on herself like crazy, her entire pelvis alive with sparks, her pussy doing little warm-up clenches on his cock as he thrust into her.
He let out a string of swear words.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He put his fingers in her mouth. “Shh.”
She sucked them, whimpering, rubbing herself, and he battered her, his huge cock sliding in and out of her.
She was wet, fuck, when had she gotten that wet?
“Briars, you feel good,” he panted in her ear.
She clenched on him.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
She sucked harder on his fingers, and he started thrusting them in and out of her mouth in the same rhythm as he was fucking her.
Her finger on her clit fell into the same rhythm.
And then they were together—in that way with them, that way that felt right and easy—and she shuddered and spat out his fingers and said, “Harder.”
