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Too intense.
It’s going to fucking break me.
He doesn’t stop though. He drags his tongue through my folds again, lapping me up like he’s dying of thirst. Then he latches onto my clit and sucks hard, making stars dance before my eyes as pain eclipses pleasure for a second.
I let go of the sheets and grab desperately at his hair, digging into the roots of his rich brown strands and pulling hard.
He growls against my skin, the sound vibrating through my clit as he keeps licking and sucking at it. A harsh scream rips from my throat when he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and I explode.
The orgasm isn’t sweet or gentle.
It’s not nice.
It grabs me by the throat just like the man who gave it to me, stealing my breath and making my heart pound so hard I think it might crash through my ribs.
The scream keeps pouring from me as my hips jerk and writhe uselessly against the unrelenting force of Marcus’s grip. He keeps lapping at me until my cry finally dies away, and when he lifts his head to look up at me, his lips and chin glisten with my arousal.
Yanking his hair from my tight grasp and ignoring whatever pain it causes him, he crawls up my body, settling his heavy weight between my thighs as he crashes
his lips against mine again.
I can taste myself on him. I can feel my own slick arousal smearing over my lips and face as he fucks my mouth with his tongue.
It tastes sweet.
It tastes filthy.
It tastes like fucking defeat.
The strokes of his tongue against mine finally slow, becoming deeper and more probing as he rocks against me, pressing his jeans-covered cock into the soft wetness of my soaked pussy. Then he wrenches himself away, kneeling between my legs as he drags in harsh, fast breaths. I’m still wearing my tank top and bra, and he grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head before slipping a hand beneath me to deftly unsnap my bra.
He throws them both off the side of the bed, then pauses again, staring down at me as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
“Fuck.” The word is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself more than me. “I’ve thought about this…”
He shakes his head, like he’s dragging himself out of some inner thought. Keeping his gaze trained on me, pinning me to the mattress with no more than the weight of his stare, he reaches for the button of his jeans and pops it open. He shoves his pants and his boxers down in one quick motion, shucking them both before settling onto his knees between my legs, his hand wrapped around his cock.
He’s got big hands, but even so, his cock looks massive as it throbs in his grip.
What did it look like with my hand wrapped around it? My fingers and thumb didn’t even touch.
My pussy clenches at the thought, making more wetness seep from me as a broken, desperate noise sounds in my throat.
Marcus is still towering over me, holding his cock like it’s a fucking weapon. In the dim light of the room, the blue of his right iris seems to stand out even more, and I have a sudden vivid memory of him pushing inside me, filling me up, stretching me to my limit.
He’s done it hundreds of times in my dreams.
I’ve thought about this…
He’s not the only one.
The wave of pure insanity I’ve been riding ever since I came to this house takes over completely, and I reach for him, lifting my good arm to try to pull him down toward me. I can’t even reach him where he’s kneeling, but it doesn’t matter. My movement seems to jerk him out of whatever stasis he was trapped in, and he leans over me, bracing one hand beside my head as he finds my entrance with the thick head of his cock.
I feel the beginning of the stretch, the way the fat head of his dick wedges inside me. And then, with no more warning or preamble, he pitches his hips forward hard and fast, driving balls deep in a single thrust.
All the breath is driven from my lungs, leaving only enough air for a guttural grunt to pass my lips as I clutch at the arm that’s braced by my head, trying to survive the onslaught of sensations.
It hurts.
