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“On your knees,” he grunts. “Get up on your hands and knees. Let me see that ass and that pretty pink pussy when I come. Let me see you finger yourself.”
Oh, God. Now I’m about to come. I’ve never had a guy talk dirty to me like this before, and I can’t believe how much his filthy words turn me on.
I don’t even hesitate. Like I’m a puppet and he controls the strings, I go up onto all fours, turning my back to him so he gets a perfect view of my ass and my dripping pussy as I lift one hand off the bed and continue to play with my clit.
“There it is. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking perfect.” The words are almost like a prayer, and the final syllable ends in a choked grunt.
I crane my neck, peering over my shoulder to watch him come. There’s nothing in the world that could make me miss the sight of this.
The tempo of his hand picks up until it’s a blur of motion, and suddenly, his thighs clench hard, his stomach muscles contracting. I can see his balls pull up tight to his body, and then ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his hand and dripping back down his shaft as he pumps a few more times.
The image of him coming undone like that, knowing that he’s watching me while he does, pushes me over the edge of my third orgasm. My hips buck against my hand as I cry out brokenly, sensation tearing through me like a tidal wave. The arm bracing me up goes weak, and I collapse against the mattress face down, my ass still raised in the air, fingers still touching my clit as aftershocks quake through me.
“Fuck,” I whimper. “Fuck.”
“Fuck?”
Trent’s voice behind me is strained, and before I can turn around to look at him, I feel the mattress shift as he joins me on the bed. A second later, rough, calloused hands are all over my ass and thighs, squeezing and massaging the flesh as Trent breathes like he just ran a marathon.
“You said ‘fuck’, Holloway? Is that what you want?”
I feel a slick hardness against my ass cheek, and heat rushes through me.
Shit. He’s still completely hard. He’s so turned on by this—by me—that he hasn’t softened at all.
“Yes.” The word is a breathy whisper. It’s all I want. It’s what I’ve wanted since the second he stepped into this room. Since long before that, if I’m honest with myself.
He doesn’t ask again. He doesn’t hesitate. His cock bumps against me again, slipping into the tight entrance of my pussy, and then he rams inside.
He fills me completely in one stroke, and I scream—a full throated scream that comes from the very bottom of my soul. He’s big, so fucking big, and I’m so tight around him that I swear I can feel every ridge and vein of his cock. If I wasn’t so fucking wet, it might’ve hurt. But as it is, I just feel completely full, overwhelmed and dominated by the man behind me.
He stills, his hips pressed against my ass, as if now that he’s finally inside me, he can’t bear to leave. I wriggle against him, desperate for friction, for movement.
“Trent, please.”
A stinging slap to my ass makes me yelp, and my sensitive clit throbs as my pussy clenches hard around him. I almost just came again, my body so strung out on pleasure that it’s hovering at the edge, hanging on by the thinnest of threads.
“Uh uh, Ems. You’re done being in charge here. I played the little game you wanted. You got to see me make a mess all over myself. You got to see what the sight of your tight little pussy does to me. But that game is done now. And I make the rules of this one.”
As he finishes speaking, he draws out slowly. I can feel our combined juices spilling out of me, his cum and my cream leaking down my leg, and I bump back against him, wanting him to go faster and harder.
Another slap lands on my other cheek, the bite of pain and then the flush of heat in the skin making my clit spasm hard. Shit. If he keeps this up, I’ll come before he even gets around to fucking me properly.
I tell him so in a muffled voice, and he makes a tortured noise in the back of his throat, massaging the sting away with a surprisingly gentle touch before both his hands grab my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard.
“Goddammit. Why are you so fucking perfect, Emma? Why did you have to be so perfect for me?”
His tone is low, and I press up onto my hands again, peering over my shoulder to look at him. He’s gazing back at me, and his expression looks soft, almost… sad. Regretful.
“I dunno,” I murmur, my filter completely gone, destroyed by the feel of his hands on me and his cock spearing me. “Why do you have to be so perfect for me?”
“Do you think I am perfect?” The softness fades from his eyes, and he grabs my hips even harder, pulling out before driving back in, making me rock on my hands and knees. “Do you think this is perfect?”
“Yes!” I blurt out as he does it again, harder and deeper than the first time. “Yes. God, yes!”
A string of curses falls from his lips, and he begins to piston his hips with brutal force, fucking me so hard I can feel my ass jiggling every time he slams into me. It walks the line between pleasure and pain, and I never knew I would like that either—but it makes sense for us. Our relationship walks the line between hate and love, and the whole mess of emotions feeds into this moment, pushing the pain into pleasure. Just pleasure.
I’m gasping and grunting, making inarticulate noises and half-formed sentences, begging him not to stop, daring him to go harder, telling him this is what he gets. I don’t know who’s being punished here, him or me.
