I can't breathe. Can't think. All I can do is feel him, every thick inch of him splitting me open, stretching me, filling me so completely I can't tell where I end and he begins.
I moan, unable to get away, and suddenly the pain starts to turn to a pleasure I've never felt before. Now, I don't want to run, I want to be fucked.
My legs wrap around his waist as I meet his thrusts, giving as good as I get.
"That's it," he rasps, his free hand sliding down my body to grip my hip, pulling it higher, changing the angle so he's hitting even deeper. "Take every fucking inch."
The pain is completely gone now, replaced by something hot and overwhelming and so intense I can barely stand it.
His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with rough, relentless pressure.
"Oh God," I gasp, my back arching off the mat.
"Look at me," he demands.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there, the raw hunger, the possessiveness, nearly undoes me.
"You're mine now," he says, his voice rough with need. "I want to hear how much you've been craving this."
I can't. I shouldn't.
But the words spill out anyway. "I'm craving you baby. Give me more."
His thumb makes a circling motion around my clit, going faster and faster.
I feel my body tensing. I can't hold on. I can't... I shatter.
I scream his name as the orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around him so hard I see stars. Every nerve ending lights up at once, pleasure flooding through me in waves so intense I can't breathe.
But he doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. He fucks me through it, drawing it out until I'm shaking, gasping, barely coherent.
"That's a good girl," he says, slowing slightly, making me feel every inch of his thick cock sliding in and out.
He grabs one leg spreading it wider, “I want you coming again baby. I'm not done with you,” he demands.
He's made me come so hard I don't think I have it in me.
"I—I can't."
"You will, don't worry,” he says and leans down to kiss me. His lips trial down my neck."
He pulls out before I can process what's happening and flips me over.
"On your knees," he orders and grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging it. "And don't think about running."
I obey, my body trembling, still riding the aftershocks of my orgasm.
He releases my hair and grabs my hips, yanking me back onto him, sliding back into me. This angle is deeper, fuller, overwhelming in a way that makes me cry out.
I drop to my elbows, my forehead pressing into the mat as he pounds into me from behind, each thrust driving me forward.
His hand fists in my hair again, pulling my head back, arching my spine.
"Look at you," he growls. "Fucking perfect like this."
I can barely speak. I'm babbling half-formed words, pleas, curses. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. All I know is that I need him to never stop, need this feeling to last forever.
He leans over me, his chest pressing against my back, his mouth close to my ear.
