Page 73 of She’s Worth the Risk

“What do you see?” she asks, gripping the rug as she works herself on my dick.

I want to answer her, but my eyes fall closed, distracted by the pleasure of her movements.

Or maybe I’m looking for a reason not to play ball.

Zinnia stills her hips, withholding the pleasure. “Look, Nick,” she says firmly, and I have no choice but to bring my gaze back to myself. “Imagine you’re Michelangelo, studying the contours of the male form. Look at how fucking divine you are. Every muscle you’ve carefully carved into your body.”

Her words land hard. In all the years I spent studying the human form, I’ve never once looked at mine with any kind of admiration. But now, at Zinnia’s command, I gaze at my image. Firm, sculpted shoulders, hard slabs for pecs, visible ridges in my abs. Even with the grays peppering the hair on my chest and stomach, I have to admit I’m in pretty decent shape for a guy my age.

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she must read the acknowledgment on my face, because she smiles, resuming her movements. She grips my cock like a glove, and my hips rock to meet hers, needing the friction.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she rasps. “I love it.”

She’s not wrong. Maybe it’s doing something so unorthodox, or maybe it’s simply getting to see her on her hands and knees, her breasts swinging with each thrust, but I’m as hard as steel.

Her eyes are pitch-black as they move over my reflection. “Look how beautiful you are when you’re turned on.”

I swallow, taking in my disheveled hair, the flush on my cheeks, the slightly feral look in my eyes. My first instinct is to turn away, to shut it down, but that’s not what she wants.

I’m turned on because you’re turned on.

She wants to see me like this. She wants me to completely lose my composure. To completely give myself to her.

My hips rock with another thrust, harder this time, and she grips the rug tighter.

“Yes, Nick,” she breathes. “Fuck me deep and watch what it does to you. Watch yourself come undone.”

It’s safe to lose control with me.

I slam into her again, and the pleasure is so intense that the careful grip on my self-composure loosens. The guy in the mirror releases a rough groan, his face slackening with pleasure, muscles bunching as he thrusts again.

Let me be your Jackson Pollock canvas.

With every thrust, I watch Zinnia take me deeper, overcome by desire. She’s never once held back with me, and suddenly, I can’t imagine why I’d hold back with her.

Why I wouldn’t return that gift.

I drive into her again, reveling in her moans. God, the way she takes me so willingly, her lips parted in pleasure, eyes rolling back, knuckles white as she grips the rug.

“Harder,” she begs. “Give me everything. I want to feel it all.”

Something about those words pushes me over the edge. The final thread of my self-control snaps, and I shove her forward onto her elbows.

“This what you want?” I grit out, plowing into her roughly. “You want me to fuck you like there’s no tomorrow?”

“Fuck yes, Nick.” She emits a shuddering moan, taking every brutal thrust. “Oh my God, yes.”

My balls slap her clit as I pound her mercilessly, overcome by an animal instinct I’ve never felt. I can’t get deep enough, can’t move fast enough, but instead of feeling fear, I feel unstoppable.

Zinnia stares at me with wild, fiery eyes in the mirror. “More,” she pleads, and I grip her hips hard enough to bruise.

“You want me so deep you can taste it?” I growl.

“Yes.” She quivers under me, legs shaking. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Her eyes move over my reflection, desperately drinking me in, and this time she doesn’t have to tell me. I look at the guy fucking Zinnia, the sweat beading on his brow, dynamite in his gaze, muscles rippling as he claims her without hesitation. He looks strong, powerful, determined. I want to be that guy.

Fuck, I am that guy.