“Please,” I beg through heavy-lidded eyes. Perhaps our food was drugged because I feel like swooning.
“Please what?” He loves this. He’s in his element, full of mastery and control.
“Please make me come,” I plead shamelessly.
Another finger joins the first, stretching me wider. I’m so besotted I lose all sense of decorum and say, “Thank you.”
Now, the heel of his hand bumps my clit with every thrust. Where before I stood passively, letting him dictate the depth and the rhythm, now I roll my hips, pressing against him on every plunge.
“Do you want to come?” he asks. His predatory gaze has never left mine.
“Yes.” I give everything over to Xzavic. Giving him control of my orgasms, my pleasure, when what I really want to give him is my heart. That’s too dangerous, though.
“Come, Slayer!” That false name is said with equal amounts of command and affection. It’s an effective combination that leaves me powerless to resist.
My first orgasm of the evening explodes from where my clit is still being rhythmically pounded by the heel of his hand. It whips through me with the speed and fury of the crack of a bullwhip.
My nails bite into the flesh of his upper arms as I try to stay standing. It’s too much, too compelling, too delicious to experience while still having to perform mundane tasks like breathing and blinking, and especially standing.
I lean my weight on the hand that’s holding me up by my pussy. My body bounces up and down because the big, blue male is still pressing in and out of me, giving me the ride of my life. Every muscle in my body seems to still be spasming as I lean onto his chest and hope he’ll keep me upright.
