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He bites my neck again.
“You’re branding me.”
He laughs.
“So? Are you accountable to someone else?”
Someone else?
He tilts his gaze and looks down his nose at me in the mirror.
Arrogance looks good on him.
I wag my finger at him, trying to act and feel like I’m in control. I feel vulnerable as fuck. And it sort of takes me by surprise, yet I roll with it.
Pushing my feelings back, I touch his hands––one is wrapped around my neck while the other strokes me between my folds.
His expression shifts, his smile fading, his eyes turning into pools of lust.
We scale up fast, mostly because I have no control over it, and he has all of it, and being in the driver’s seat allows him to drag me to the peak fast.
We experience bliss for a few good moments, and the feeling is more than satisfying when we look at each other in the mirror again.
I notice how much pleasure he gets from my body, that feeling alone kills the angst threatening to ruin everything for me.
He moves fast, moans lifting from my lips.
Eyes closed, I relish the tension and the force coming from him until it all becomes a swirl of pleasure, and the orgasm falls through us.
