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His hand was on my hip, a possessive grip. “I told myself all night that I was going to make love to you slowly for once, but I don’t think it’s going to be like that. You’re irresistible, you know that?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but my breath was stolen from me as he whipped me around by the shoulders, picked me up, and threw me roughly onto the bed.
I hadn’t caught my breath yet when he was on me and over me, his big hands parting my legs, his hips fitting between.
“You’re wet,” he said thickly. He reached a hand down, his fingers stroking over me, gathering the moisture. He held it where I could see. “You’re ready for my cock. Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?” his words were more of a statement in the form of a question.
I looked down. His dick was already out of his slacks, pushing against my entrance.
“Yes,” I gasped. The wide crest of his cock pushed into me with that slow, slick, sweet, thick glide I’d become addicted to.
Our eyes locked and he started to move, pumping in and out of me in heavy punches of his hips, his balls slapping loudly against my ass.
He never looked away from me, not for an instant.
It felt so intimate, it made my eyes sting with tears. I loved him so much, and somehow everything he did to me, even if it had nothing to do with love, only made that love grow.
“Please,” I whimpered at him.
He knew what I was asking for.
It flipped a switch in him. A switch he’d only ever switched for me.
His thrusts stuttered for a moment, the skin around his cheekbones taut with strain.
His fists had been on either side of my head as he braced himself over me. Now one reached down and ripped one of the roses off my nipple, then pinched me roughly.
His thrusts went from a smooth pump into a hard jounce that made my whole body jerk with each motion. My breasts bounced with every measured jolt.
He spoke all the while, rough filth pouring out of his mouth, bathing me—my preferred aphrodisiac.
“Fucking take it,” he grunted. Thrust. “Fuck toy.” Thrust. “My perfect little whore.” Thrust. “Cum vacuum.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. Only mine.” Thrust. “Fucking mine. Say it.”
I came with a hoarse cry. Nothing got to me faster than his words, and moreover, his rough demands of ownership.
He wasn’t finished, didn’t even pause. He brought my arms above my head, holding my wrists.
I loved it when he did that, trapping and subjugating me to his ruthless will, then eventually, his generous mercy.
His other hand ripped the other embroidered rose off my nipple, hand gripping the soft flesh roughly.
His strokes never slowed, but got harder, more frenzied.
He stamped his pleasure into me, stirring my insides into his shape in a harsh, relentless tempo as he grew close to his own release.
“Fucking say it,” he growled.
“Yours,” I cried, and toes curling, I came again.
He followed with a tormented groan.
He stayed on top of me and in me after. It was a habit of his that I loved, as though, even spent, he couldn’t bear to tear himself away.
Eventually he bent and kissed me as he dragged himself out.
