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He made some rough growl in his throat. “Yes, princess. Use me. Use my fingers.”
His thumb found my clit and he brushed it, barely touching it.
I shook my head. “More.”
“I can’t give you more. There is only what you take, princess.”
I sat up and curled my hands over his cock. “This,” I hissed into his face, drawn and bright with tension and lust.
“No.” He smacked my hand away. “You can’t have that.”
“Fuck you,” I grunted and lay back down against the warm sheets, his fingers still fucking inside of me. “Give me another finger,” I demanded, and felt the push and stretch of him adding another. My eyes rolled back in my head.
“So full,” he breathed. “So fucking beautiful.”
I’d never in my life felt beautiful. Not on my wedding day. Not on any of those nights when so many people were paid to make me look as good as possible. I didn’t know how beautiful felt, so there never seemed to be a way to look beautiful. Not for me.
But this moment changed that.
I did feel beautiful, naked and fucking myself on his fingers. My hands cupping my tits. This was beauty. He and I together. This pleasure.
I grabbed him by the back of his head and pushed him down. He went, giving me a little resistance even as he laughed because that seemed to be the game now.
“What are you takin’, macushla?”
“Your mouth,” I said, and he fell on me, sliding his body between my legs. The hand that wasn’t all but fully inside of me swept under my body, holding me still in the grip between his forearm and bicep.
There was no careful seduction. No soft licks. None of that. He devoured me. He pushed the whole of his face against my clit. He sucked hard and I exploded in orgasm, grabbing his head with both hands as I ground myself into him. Onto him. Through him if I could.
Tears suddenly bit at my eyes and I couldn’t blink them back in time. He lifted his face and saw me in the half-light. I wiped away the tears while he watched, feeling more naked now than I did two seconds ago.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Your shoulder?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “But it’s all right.”
He climbed up my body, his legs on either side of my hips. His cock stretched up nearly to his navel. Come oozed out the tip and I watched, wide-eyed, as he palmed his cock and squeezed it, groaning in his throat.
“Let me,” I whispered, trying to sit up to put my mouth on him.
“No,” he said, pushing me gently back on the bed. “Like this.”
Like what? I wondered, lying beneath him, restless and aching again for more just at the sight of him jacking himself.
“You were teasing me in the bath,” he murmured, his fingertips gently brushing my breasts. He stroked me from the top of my breasts to the curve near my armpit and around to press his hand flat on my chest between my breasts. “Weren’t you?”
“I didn’t think you noticed,” I said. “Or cared.”
“I notice everything about you,” he said. “You have beautiful breasts, Poppy.”
“They’re not—” I stopped, shaking my head, not wanting the senator’s voice anywhere near here.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I kept my lips shut. If there were parts of himself he was keeping separate, there were parts of me I could keep back too. I didn’t owe him all my pain.
He smiled at me like he knew what I was doing and approved of it. “Cup your breasts, Poppy.” He briefly took my hands and covered my breasts. I pushed them up for him to see. The hand around his cock started to move. Harder. Faster.
“You want a show?” I whispered, arching like an actress in the porn I’d watched in the early days of my marriage trying to understand what the senator might want.
“I want to fuck them,” he growled.
I blinked, taken aback. I knew it was a thing but didn’t know how. My breasts were small. Hardly . . . fuckable.
“God, look at that face. Look at all that innocence. It makes me want to defile you, princess. Ruin you. It makes me want to fuck—”
“Do it,” I said. “Just . . . fucking do it.” I was beyond submission at this point. I was sharp toothed and feral with desire. He could do whatever he wanted to me.
He reached behind his body, slipping his fingers between my legs, and I moaned, arching into the contact. But he only took his fingers, damp with my come, and smeared it over my breasts.
He leaned forward, touching the tip of his cock to my nipple, and I swear to God that shouldn’t have felt so electric. But it was like every nerve ending began and ended in that tiny touch. His hand cupped my breast, pushing it up at the same time he spat into his other hand, rubbing it on his cock. He was crude and vile and I loved it.
