He rips my panties in his haste to get them off, then yanks his sweats down. His cock springs free, thick, long, and so hard it bobs against his stomach. My mouth waters at the sight of him.
He wraps a fist around himself, stroking slow, then fast, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. "You see what you do to me?" he rasps. "You're the reason I'm this fucking hard. I've been jerking off for days, thinking about you. It's not enough, princess. I need to feel you wrapped around me."
The idea of him, alone, desperate, stroking himself to thoughts of me, makes my whole body clench. I want him inside me so badly I could die.
"Then get inside me," I beg, unable to hide the desperate, greedy whimper in my voice.
He steps toward me, then pauses with a groan. "I don't have a condom."
"I'm on birth control." The words leave my lips before I can stop them. They aren't rational. They aren't even sane. But…I don't take them back, either. I want him inside me, not in a condom, but in me.
His eyes go wild as he yanks me to the edge of the island.
"Good," he growls, lining up at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock already beaded with precum. He leans over me, bracing one arm on the counter, the other sliding up my body to grasp my breast through the fabric of my dress. He squeezes, then leans down and bites my nipple through the material, sending a jolt straight to my clit.
"River," I groan, my back arching.
"Hold onto me," he orders, twining our fingers together. His lips find mine, his kiss deep and punishing, as he pushes forward, splitting me open.
The stretch burns and aches, but I want all of it, every perfect inch.
I cling to his shoulders, my nails embedded in his skin, moaning. He doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, his cock throbbing inside me.
I buck my hips, wanting more, needing him to move, but he holds me down and just breathes with me for a second, our foreheads touching. I sob his name, so desperate it hurts, but he's a rock, refusing to give a single inch.
"Please," I beg, clawing at his shoulders.
"No."
"Please!"
"No," he says again, his voice soft. His hands run along my sides, his touch gentle. And damn him, but little by little, I melt. I stop fighting to control this. And I surrender.
"Good girl," he whispers when I finally settle beneath him, pressing his lips to my throat in a soft, sweet kiss. "You're so fucking perfect, Jasmine. Stop fighting and feel me, just like that."
I whimper in response, my insides all twisted up. This is supposed to be fucking, but it feels like something else. It's terrifying, and not nearly terrifying enough. I don't know what he's doing to me, but I don't think I want him to stop doing it, either. I just want to stay here like this, with him inside me, owning me.
He doesn't give me time to fully process the new shape of the world or the way he fits inside me, stretching and burning and making everything before this moment seem stupid and inconsequential. He starts to move, long and slow at first, like he's trying to ruin me.
Every thrust drags a broken sound from my lips. I try to remember that this is just sex, try to hold onto my grudge, but it's gone, burned out of me with every snap of his hips.
"Christ, princess. I could die happy right here," he groans.
I claw at him, sinking my nails into his back to leave marks for him to remember me by.
He hisses in my ear, then fucks me even harder. He's not gentle now. He's rough and wild and so fucking good I see stars.
"That's it, baby. Go wild for me," he growls. "Show me how deep you need me."
I bite his shoulder, and he slams into me, the island groaning beneath us. I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him in, desperate to keep him there.
He's so deep inside, it feels like he's splitting me open.
"Harder," I gasp, and he obliges, slamming in and out of me so rough I think he might break me. I want to be broken, want to have to crawl out of here on my hands and knees when it's over, want to know in my bones that he ruined me for anyone else.
He leans down, his hand circling my throat just enough to hold me in place as he bites my lower lip.
"You look so fucking beautiful on my cock," he growls, biting the side of my throat—hard and possessive.
