Tears racked my body. Not gentle tears that I choked back and shoved into mental boxes. There was no hiding from them as Tripp and his flogger forced them to the surface. It was guttural, angry sobs that ripped from my chest.
Anxious ones.
Guilty ones.
Heartrending ones that weighed on me until I was one drop away from drowning.
Even when his blows softened and my orgasm ebbed, the tears kept streaming. I couldn’t turn them off.
My pussy tightened in protest as the vibrator was pulled from my body, but it was replaced with something so much better.
Tripp.
Filling me completely.
He used the swing and his tight grip on my burning ass to easily rock me back and forth along his length.
One of his hands moved to my face as he swiped away the tears. I did my best to look at him, my apology for the messy emotions already on my tongue.
That’s where it died.
Because he wasn’t looking at me with pity or disgust or annoyance. He wasn’t squeezing his eyes shut to ignore the pathetic tears.
It was pure lust on his face as he watched them fall. I tried to sit up to look at him—to see more of that heady desire—but he flattened his palm on my cheek to hold my head down. Not cruelly, but also not gently. His thumb continued its trek across my wet cheek, like he was determined to gather each droplet. All the while, he surged in and out of me with shallow, maddening thrusts.
“Sir,” I panted, not even sure what I was asking for.
He slowed further. “Who am I?”
“Tripp.”
Like I could ever forget.
He ground himself into me roughly. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours.”
“That’s fucking right.”
“Faster. Please. Please, please,please.”
He shifted his hand just long enough that I could see the smear of my makeup across his skin before he pressed my cheek down again. “Look at you. Dressed up so pretty while you beg for my cock. What a beautiful mess you are.” He squeezed my ass and lifted me onto my tiptoes as he used the swing to slam me harder against him. “I wish you could see how fucking perfect you are.”
The pain. The pleasure. The sensation of being so surrounded and overwhelmed and filled to the point of bursting. And his praise. It all worked to launch me off the cliff.
The thousands of fiery sparks became thousands of bursts of painful euphoria until it was all a jumbled disarray that was impossible to separate.
“Fuck, Greer. Such perfection.” Tripp’s own low grunts and harsh exhales mixed with mine as he came, filling me with warmth.
The chains rattled and the swing rocked as he planted himself deep before lowering his body to mine. His lips skimmed the back of my neck, his stubble tickling as we caught our breath.
Or maybe he just caught his. I didn’t have to breathe.
I was back to being a bubble. The bubbliest bubble that ever bubbled.
Floating high.
Literally.
