He reaches down and nudges the pillow back into place beneath my hips, then grips himself, dragging the head of his cock along my entrance. Once. Twice. I tilt my hips, needing more. But he pins me down with his free hand, fingers digging into my skin. His kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a claiming, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, demanding I take everything he gives me.
His tongue is still sweeping against mine when he pushes inside me, slowly, filling me until there’s nowhere left to go.
Last night was a wordless, desperate reaction from two people pushed to the brink. It was inevitable. Gravity, like falling.
This is different.
This is a choice.
“Again. Say my name,” he growls.
“Logan,” I gasp, and he pulls out to the tip—pauses there, just long enough to make me squirm—then drives back in, slow, too slow. He does it again. And again. The pillow forces my hips to angle up toward his, and there’s nothing to do but take it, to feel the textured drag of his cock in and out of my body. His hands find my ass, gripping hard.
“These fucking curves.” He keeps that same pace, pulling all the way out before sinking fully back in. The tension coils tighter with each pass until I lift my knee, and his next thrust finds somewhere so deep, we both grunt in surprise.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He picks up the pace. All the way out, then in, faster and deeper, his hands never once leaving my body.
The rhythm and speed turn brutal, and I can feel every inch of him on every drive—the drag and the fill of it. It’s a crudefight, like every argument we’ve ever had, all that friction finally with somewhere to go. We fuck like we fight—me rolling my hips to meet him while he grips me, pins me, like he’s telling me to just take it. I argue back by lifting my knee higher, and he hooks it with one hand, then the other, until I’m folded completely open, and he drives in with his full weight behind every thrust.
The new angle undoes me. The orgasm doesn’t build—it detonates, ripping up from somewhere I didn’t know existed, my whole body seizing in his grip, walls clenching so hard around him he chokes out a curse.
“God—squeeze me tighter, baby.”
I do, and he reaches between us and finds my clit, and the orgasm already tearing through me cracks open into something else entirely—blinding, electric, too much.
“Ungh—fuuuuck!” He slams in once, twice, a third time. Pulls out to the tip. Shudders violently as he drives back in one last time, then goes rigid, spine erect, before collapsing onto me with his full weight.
I’m brainless. Shivering.
We’re panting, breathless.
Wetness spills from my pussy, drenching the bed as he pulls out. I flutter, the cool air making my sensitive skin feel even more drenched.
His forehead falls to mine. And then he kisses me. Softer this time, slower.
He gets up a second later and disappears into the bathroom, returning with a towel. He shakes his head, chuckling. “That was…”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a mess.” His voice is low, smug, and satisfied.
I laugh and kick him, barely reaching his thigh. “It’s your fault.”
He turns his dark eyes on me. “Don’t fucking forget it.” Then he tosses the towel and climbs back over me, one hand gripping my chin hard enough that I feel it in my teeth. “Say my name.”
“Graham.”
His grip tightens.
“Max?”
He drags his teeth along my bottom lip. “Say my name, baby, or face the consequences.”
That threat sounds like a win-win for me, but I’m too enamored not to indulge him.
“Logan,” I whisper.
“Fuck. It sounds so good coming out of your mouth.”
