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“Oh my God, please fuck me.”
He drops his grin and stares at me. I’m about to be devoured. His lips crush mine. I give a muffled cry, mostly from surprise.
“Shit,” he swears, possibly remembering my stitches—which have mostly dissolved by now—as he looks over my lip.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
He flips me to face the wall, possibly to lessen the temptation of kissing me again. His hips press into me, and I can feel his erection.
“So you’re looking to get fucked,” he says.
“You surprised?” I return, grinding my backside against him.
“As much as I want to fuck you?”
“I don’t know. How much do you want to fuck me?”
He slams his hips into me. “Enough that I may not care if you come or not.”
“Then do it.”
In the moment, I don’t care either. My pussy needs something in it now.
He undoes my jeans and yanks them down to my knees.
“You remembered to go commando,” he notes. “Good girl.”
He caresses me between the thighs.
“Oh, yeah,” he murmurs, finding the wetness. “You want a good, hard fucking, Bridge?”
“Yes!” I reply, my impatience soaring with every second. I stick my rump out, wanting to connect with him.
He swats a buttock. “Keep your ass still.”
I hear him pull of his shirt and undo his pants. And then he’s in me swift and deep. I gasp.
“Be careful what you ask for, Bridge.”
He pins my hands to the wall and threads his fingers through mine. Without ceremony, he starts bucking, slamming into the wall.
“That hard enough for you?” he grunts near my ear.
“Yes!” I squeak. It’s a little too hard, but I’m just glad his cock is where I need it to be.
With his thrusts, he thumps me against the wall, where I imagine a permanent dent in the shape of my body will be if he keeps this up. I’m already on the tips of my toes, but his shoving takes my feet off the floor. At the moment, I don’t remember my safe word, but if I did, I don’t know if I could actually enunciate it. I start hoping he comes soon.
He slows down, drops a hand and fondles my clit. I gulp in relief. Even though it doesn’t feel great being sandwiched against the wall, I consider myself lucky that the standing position doesn’t allow as deep a penetration as some of the other positions.
“You like a good, hard fucking?” he asks.
“A little,” I admit.
“You’ve got a masochistic bone in your body after all.”
Do I? Maybe I do.
“I don’t know how much more I can take, though,” I say.
