“Keep talkin’,” he growls, hips bumping, lining himself up. “Let’s see how mouthy you are with my cock buried in that tight little cunt of yours.”
Then he slams into me in one hard thrust, and I forget how to speak at all.
He grips my hips as he claims me, holding on tight like he needs to make sure I’m real.
He sinks into me with deep, unrelenting strokes, the sound of his hips furiously slapping against my ass blending with our rough pants.
I gasp, working to keep up with the ruthless pace he sets. Eyes wide, lips parted, my entire body flares with overwhelming heat. Overwhelming need.
“Fuck, Jules. Look at you, taking it like you were made for me.”
“Yes,” I hiss. My ability to form coherent thoughts has fled the room. I am just sensation now. Mindless pleasure overtakes me.
Emmett drapes his chiseled torso over me, slowing for a beat. Kissing the back of my damp neck, he curses low and guttural against my shoulder, like he’s shaken. Like he’s been searching forever for this exact feeling.
“God, you feel—” He cuts himself off with a growl. “You feel like heaven. Always knew you would. Been thinking about having you here since the day I bent you over in my kitchen and had to pretend to be the gentleman that I’m not.”
I try to answer him, but all that comes out is a broken sound vaguely reminiscent of the wordsame.
He moves again, hard and deep, each stroke stealing the air from my lungs. The rhythm is relentless. It’s so good it almost hurts.
The cowboy painting on the wall rattles next to my hands as he pounds into me.
“You like this,” he says, voice rough-edged. “You like it when I bend you over, take you like this. Say it.”
I manage a glance over my shoulder and a nod, but he tightens his grip.
“Say it, Jules.”
“Yes,” I breathe, shaky and wrecked. “Yes. I like it—I fucking love it.”
“That’s right,” he growls. “You take every inch so well. God, I can’t get enough of you.”
His hand slips between my legs and finds my clit. He pinches it and my knees nearly buckle. I cry out, one hand clawing at the wall. The painting falls, the distant sound of glass shattering only vaguely registers for me.
I reach behind myself to hold on to his arm—scrambling for purchase, anchoring to the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
His pace falters for a moment, then a gruff, “You know what? Fuck it.” He picks up again, faster, deeper. Every thrust drives me closer to the edge.
“You going to fall apart for me, doll?” he pants. “Right here, against the wall, bent over with your skirt pulled up, all desperate and begging for my cock?”
Fuck yes.
I’m already there. My body coils tight, heat winding inside me like a fuse about to blow.
“Emmett,” I call, and it’s a warning—a plea.
“Let go. You’re fucking perfect like this,” he whispers against my ear. “Come for me.”
And I do.
The world fractures around me as I unravel—pleasure crashing through me, wave after wave, until I’m trembling and gasping and completely gone.
My body goes soft and pliant in his hands, but he doesn’t stop. He groans and buries himself deep with one last, fierce thrust.
He shudders, forehead dropping to the back of my neck, breath coming in ragged bursts as he follows me over the edge.
I can feel him thicken, seize, and fill me. His cock pulses hot and hard from inside.
