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“Don’t move,” he orders. I’m spread for him, and God I’m dying for his touch. I hate how he commands me around and leaves me exposed,
But as I sift through my confusing emotions, I’m shaken by the realization that I trust him. I’m letting him lead because I know he will take me where I need to go.
Where that security came from is beyond me, but acknowledging it, I allow a crack in my defenses. And it fills me with relief. And an equal amount of dread.
And that’s how far I get, because Dominic steals my focus again when he stretches my swollen folds with two fingers and growls an approval.
“Your pussy is a piece of art.” His praise hits me right in my core, attacking all my senses. I hear a wrapper rip and then his head nudges at my opening and I sigh.
He sinks in and the burn takes my breath away. Fuck, he is big. I wish I could look, but from my position I can only sense. And that is so much better.
More intense. More consuming. More overwhelming.
It takes him a few thrusts before he’s all the way in. Filling me. Stretching me. He keeps murmuring words of praise that attack me with a strange reverence. I know this is typical dirty talk, but God I need someone to validate me. This man is slowly chipping away all my walls.
He moves slowly at first before gaining a piston-like tempo. I moan and groan as our bodies slap against each other. Dominic fists my hair again and rides me like this is the last time we’ll get to do this. It is the last time, after all.
The sofa slides forward with every thrust, and Dominic curses before he lifts me and lowers me to the floor, pulling my waist up so I end up on all fours. He plunges back into me, his momentum reaching a punishing pace.
“I’m close—” I pant, and Dominic withdraws completely. “What the hell?” My snarl comes out as a whimper.
He fists my hair and pulls me to him. My back smashes to his chest. How are we still both clothed?
“You will come when I tell you to.” He bites the crook of my neck, strong enough to send a pulsating energy to my core.
“I hate you,” I growl, but my words fall short because I’m rubbing myself against him like a horny teenager.
He laughs and spins me around, sitting back on his heels. I wrap my legs around him and he lowers me down, filling me again.
Cupping the back of my neck, he captures my lips. I attempt to grind my pelvis against him, but he grips my waist tightly, denying me the ability to move.
He chuckles against me when I groan. His tongue attacks my mouth, his hand pulling my hair painfully, but the bastard doesn’t move. He is infuriating. Annoyingly skilled at driving me mad. I’m desperate. Yet, somehow, I’m wonderfully elated.
“Dominic, I swear to God,” I warn, and clench around him. He sucks in a sharp breath and starts moving. Gripping my hips, he controls the pace with such power that I’m completely defenseless. And pretty sure I’ll be sporting bruises tomorrow.
He moves with a languid fluidity and I want to scream, but at the same time the resulting heat is so rewarding I give up again and let him lead.
And he does. Sucking on my lips and rolling his pelvis, he drives me to the point of madness.
“You can come, Chils.”
He reaches between us and pinches my clit. I don’t know how, but his command and this last wonderfully painful touch send me over the edge. I fall with an intensity that erases my mind and elicits screams that scratch my vocal cords.
But I don’t care, because as I clench around him, Dominic lets out a series of curses, jerking inside me as we both reach the orgasm that crashes over us, breaking us and putting us together at the same time.
It takes us a moment, or a day, to recover. My body liquefied, I cling to him and hate it, but there is no way I can move.
Dominic, on the other hand, somehow still has enough strength to stand up while holding me. He drops me on the couch without finesse and goes to take care of the condom.
Water runs somewhere inside his place, and he comes back with a washcloth. Not many situations can render me speechless, but this does. I want to snarl that I’m perfectly capable of walking to the bathroom and cleaning myself up.But am I?
He drops to his knees and wipes me, and I insist internally that the goosebumps sprouted due to the cool contrast of the cloth against my skin. Definitely not because I’m strangely touched by his care.
I open my mouth, because it’s time to regain some dignity here, but I don’t get a chance to speak.
“Shut up, Chils. I’m still in charge.” The tone is matter of fact. He drops the cloth to the floor and squeezes my thighs. I gasp, the pain mixing with pleasure again.
“About that—” It’s time to set him straight, because I may have had a weak moment earlier, but no way I’m giving him more cocky self-confidence.
