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He falls still anyway, kissing me again and again and again. As if he can't stop. As if he's breathing his soul into me. I take it, greedy for it. I want to consume him. I want to wreck and ruin and own him.
I want to love him too.
Only when he's sure I'm okay does he start to move. He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward. We shout together, our sounds mingling as we discover exactly what we were made for. This. Each other. Pleasure.
There's so much of it, I'm not sure I'll survive it as he pounds into him, grunting curses and praise in my ear.
You're such a good fucking girl.
Do you feel that, Makenzie? Do you feel how goddamn good you feel wrapped around me?
Goddamn, angel baby. This tight little pussy.
He growls the last like he's pissed. Like it's my fault he went and got himself addicted. That's his problem. I've got ninety-nine of my own.
I forget every single one of him when he rolls me on top of him and demands that I ride him. Somehow, I work out the mechanics. I lift and drop, taking him deep. He growls and curses, his eyes on fire as he watches his dick disappearing only to reappear covered in me a moment later.
He bucks his hips each time I land on his lap, forcing himself deeper. I scratch down his thighs and stomach, sobbing his name as he pinches my nipples, adding a new level of rapture to my torment.
"You better fucking come," he orders, slipping one hand between our bodies. "I want you dripping all over me, Makenzie."
That's right, he did say he wanted to wear me.
I make every effort to give him exactly what he asked for, riding him harder and faster. Until I feel like I'm flying. He's writhing in torment beneath me, desperate to go over as he pinches my clit, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
I lose the rhythm. I lose my mind.
"I love you," I cry, slamming myself down on him as the first waves crest and I break.
"Makenzie!" My name echoes in the corners as he holds me down on him, bucking his hips. He comes hard, his seed warming me as he spills into me and then trickles out, leaving us a sticky, sweaty mess.
"We didn't talk about birth control," he says a while later, running his fingers up and down my spine as we soak in the tub. He carried me here as soon as he could move, insisting I needed to soak so I wouldn't be sore. I didn't tell him that I'd be sore anyway. I have a feeling that news would only distress him. "Are you on anything, angel baby?"
"No," I whisper.
He grunts as if he's satisfied.
I turn my head to peek at him over my shoulder, confirming my suspicion.
"You want to get me pregnant."
"I want you tied to me in every way possible," he says, completely unrepentant. "The thought of watching you grow round with my kid makes my fucking cock ache."
"What if I don't want kids?" I ask, only teasing.
"Then I'll tell you it's a goddamn shame and make sure you're protected next time." He brushes damp strands of hair from my face. "You'd be an incredible mother, angel baby. This world deserves to know what that's like."
My heart flutters.
"I want kids," I confess, running my fingers through the rapidly dissolving bubbles. "I've always wanted them. I'm just terrified I'll damage them."
"Your mom really did a number on you, huh?"
"I spent my whole life listening to all the ways I didn't measure up." I shrug. "At some point, I started to believe it."
"What changed?"
"Her third husband."
