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“Please,” I whimper, my eyes half-closed.
“Say it again,” he commands, and I’d think he was fully in control if his grip didn’t tighten on my neck.
“Please, Abraham,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from the light pressure.
He rolls his head back with a groan before plunging himself back inside, the beginnings of a rhythm forming, and I meet each thrust with my own effort.
In my euphoric haze, I almost miss the way he hangs his head, his lips puckered as he spits. It lands at the base of my tailbone, and I shiver as it slides down, just as his thumb stops it at my other entrance.
He presses it inside, while squeezing at my neck again and I lose myself for a second.
I reach between my legs, and he leans over to bite my shoulder and I cry out.
“Put your hand down,” he commands. “I don’t need your help to make you come.”
We’re a frenzy of moans, grunts, and the passing of dominance between us.
I may have my ass in the air, and he may have his hand on my neck, but I meet each thrust with a fervor of my own, counting on the way his grunts gain in volume and he quickens his thrusts.
I feel the impending orgasm, unfamiliar, stronger than what I’ve been able to work from my own body. I gasp as it takes over, his hold on my neck keeps me from hiding my face.
“Merda,” Abraham grinds out just before his own orgasm takes over.
We topple over, satiated, and he pulls me into his arms, kissing my forehead before running his fingers through my hair.
