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“Please, I need it. I need you to fuck me,” I beg unashamedly.
If you’d asked me if I would have sex with a Harrington, I would’ve laughed my ass off and said you were out of your mind. But Chance is nothing like I thought he’d be. He’s kinder, sweeter, and smarter than I expected from a man born with a silver spoon up his ass, but also dirtier, sexier, and more generous with his time and attention to my body.
I do need to come. But equally as much, I need Chance to do it with me.
“Dammit.”
He’s up and off the couch in a blink, ripping his clothes off. “Turn over and lie flat. I don’t want to hurt your knee.”
More carelessly than I should, I pull my cami over my head and rip my panties off, then flip onto my belly, feeling the soft fabric of the couch tease at my nipples. With Chance behind me where I can’t see him, the anticipation builds, especially when I hear the tell-tale crinkle of a condom wrapper. I’m probably leaving a puddle on his expensive couch, but instead of being mortified, I’m amused at the idea of marking his impeccably clean space.
When Chance’s finger runs down my spine, I arch into his touch, lifting my ass as he swoops down my crack and into the wetness between my thighs. “I’m soaked for you,” I say, even though I know he can feel it.
His finger slips inside me easily, and he leans over me to whisper in my ear. “I want you to lie there and do nothing. Just take me. Can you do that?”
I nod eagerly.
Chance throws a leg over me, his knees on the couch on either side of me as he hovers, nearly sitting on the backs of my thighs. He takes hold of my ass, gripping full handfuls of flesh and squeezing them harshly, almost pinching me. It’s delightfully sharp, and I cry out, arching to give him even more access to my butt and even lower.
He shifts, and I feel his head at my entrance for a quick moment before he thrusts forward, filling me from behind with his big, hard cock. Chance grunts a primal, guttural sound as I welcome him into my body, stretching around him.
Moving his hands to my shoulders, he uses the leverage to stroke into me again with sure, deep thrusts that massage the front wall of my pussy, right where I’m most sensitive. “Good girl,” he praises me, and wetness floods between us.
If anyone else dared to call me a girl, I’d bitchily correct them that I’m a full-grown woman who should be respected as such. But apparently, I have a praise kink where Chance is concerned, and his rumbly voice saying ‘good girl’ gets me to the edge near instantly.
“Ohmagawd, Chance. Fuck my cunt hard. Whatever you want... please...” I’m mumbling so much that I don’t know if he can even understand me, especially with my face half-smushed into a couch pillow, but I hope he gets the point.
An arm wraps around my chest, lifting me slightly, and I glance back to see Chance looking wild-eyed and crazed. Prim, proper, well-mannered Chance has left the building, and in his place is Caveman Chance.
And fuck, do I like him.
There’s a saying about men liking a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets. I think the same holds true for me. Chance is a gentleman in public and a monster in private. I have a tiny seed of pride that I helped him find that part of himself.
“You want me to treat you... like a slut?” he asks gruffly. The word’s not natural to him, but I see the way he licks his lips after, like he’s tasting it, testing it to see how delicious it is.
I nod like a bobble-head. “Claim me, possess me, take me. Fuck my cunt with your big cock like I’m your slut.”
It’s more dirty talk than I’ve done before too, but it’s turning me inside out as much as it is Chance. I’ll examine why that is later, but right now, I want to see what Chance is going to do, feel what my body can handle, and explore new territory with him.
He shoves my chest back to the couch, gathering my arms behind my lower back to pin my wrists in one hand. I hear him spit on my ass and then feel his thumb swiping through it. “Gonna fuck this pussy with my thumb in your ass, Samantha. If you don’t want that, you’d better tell me right the fuck now.”
His thumb dips between my cheeks, swirling over my rosebud, and instead of stopping him, I say, “Do it.”
His thumb pops through my tight knot easily. I’m so aroused, I think he could shove his cock inside my ass and I’d take it with no problem, so his thumb is nothing. Except when he starts riding me hard and fast, his dick slamming into me so deep that it scoots me up the couch, and with his thumb pumping in and out, it’s everything.
I hang on as long as I can, wanting this edging to go on forever.
“You gonna come for me?” Chance pants, the words forced out in favor of breathing.
I nod senselessly, lost to the pleasure he’s piling on my body as I’m forced to lie here and take it, unable to move my legs, my hips, my arms. But he’s not using me like a fuck toy. No, he’s giving as much as he’s taking.
“Do it,” he says, repeating the permission I gave him only moments ago.
It’s all I need to fly apart. The room, the couch, even Chance disappear as I fall into a black void of ecstasy. Somewhere through the roaring in my ears, I hear Chance tell me, “Use that cunt to squeeze me like a good girl.” And I do, wanting to please him, wanting make him feel as good as I feel.
“Fuck!” he grits out, spasming as he fills me over and over. I know he’s wearing a condom, but the fantasy of him painting my pussy with his cum is filthy and sexy, and another, smaller aftershock orgasm rocks through me at the thought.
Sometime later—maybe a minute, maybe an hour, I have no idea—I come back to awareness. I’m fully flopped on the couch, one arm dangling toward the floor, the other balled up beneath my chest, with my legs relaxed. Chance is panting hard, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath.
