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Grasping his dick with one hand, he slid it up and down my slit, coating the head in my arousal before driving into me.
“God,” I half moaned, half whimpered.
“Romero,” he arrogantly corrected, pulling all the way out and pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt. He angled me so that half my ass was hanging off the step.
Bending my knees towards my chest, in true Romero fashion, he fucked me ruthlessly.
The marble stairs painfully dug into my back. He was so deep it felt like he was trying to fuse us together. It hurt in the best way possible.
“Watch us, baby. Watch how my dick slides in and out of your pussy.”
I managed to glance down, watching his slick cock slip in and out of me. The sound of skin slapping skin and my screams of pleasure echoed up the empty stairwell. His barbell repeatedly met my G-spot.
Through my euphoric, lusty haze, I felt him watching my every reaction in his intense analyzing way. I fisted his shirt and pulled him closer, bringing his lips to mine.
He greedily swallowed my obnoxious sounds. I could taste myself on his tongue, turning me on more than I already was.
In the recess of my mind, I knew I was entirely too hooked on him.
It wasn’t healthy but I didn’t give a fuck. Nothing else mattered to me when we were killing or fucking, and with us, they always went hand and hand. A psychologist would have had a field day.
I yelped when he dropped my right leg to wrap his hand around my throat, and the back of my head hit the step, forcing my body into an awkward arch.
My mouth opened but only a cough came out as he pressed down on my windpipe.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded in a level tone, pressing down a little harder, continuing to drill into me.
My stomach dipped. Had I ever admitted that aloud before? I couldn’t remember. I wasn’t ready to vocalize that or tell him he was everything to me, that he was everything I ever wanted. He was the oxygen in my blood, a dangerous toxin I would willingly inhale over and over again so I could feel alive.
Some would claim this made me weak, but what the fuck did I care what people thought of me? I didn’t. I never would again. I had tunnel vision and Romero was my glitter in the dark.
He watched me struggling for air and fighting to deny him. I wanted to glare, but my eyes started to water. I could feel my heart beating against my ribcage. Blood roared in my ears.
“I…I’m yours,” I croaked, just barely.
“Good girl,” he soughed, leaning down to bite my lip so hard he drew blood.
“Now you’re either going to come, or you’re going to pass out. I’m not letting you breathe until your pussy is clenching around my dick.”
I may have whimpered, earning another devious grin from him. I focused on the feeling of him moving inside me, lifting my hips as best I could.
The pressure built at a dizzying speed as black dots danced across my line of vision.
My fucking chest burned with every attempt I made to drag air in, a throbbing started in the back of my head.
He lurched down and licked the tears that had broken free from my cheeks, kissing along my jaw-line. “Beautiful,” he breathed in my ear as he bottomed out. Heat spread up my spine, pervading through my core.
Just when I thought he was truly going to choke me out he let go I came apart around him with a soundless scream, my mind going blank and my vision turning a fuzzy black as I dragged air into my desperate lungs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I could feel the soft mattress beneath me, and my pants had been replaced with what felt like boxers.
My head hurt, my throat ached, and my body felt like it had been hit by a car.
“Fuck,” I groaned, rolling to my belly.
“Uh, I think you’ve done enough fuckin,” a familiar voice drawled.
