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His pants were shoved down and off, and he pulled out, just long enough to rip my thong off. Then his cock sank back in, right where it was supposed to be, but Brett lifted me up, carrying me from the room, still inside me.
I squawked but quickly wrapped my legs and arms around him, and as he went up the stairs, I began lifting myself up and moving over his cock, riding him.
He stopped in his bedroom’s doorway, a hiss of air leaving him as his hands flexed into my ass, kneading me, I begun rolling over him, but a new primitive look flashed in his eyes, a stark and primal need hardened his face, but then I was on the bed and he was moving over me.
He didn’t give me any more time to adjust to the new position before he pulled out, only to slam back inside, and then he kept going.
I didn’t understand what was going on between us, but I wanted to battle him. I wanted to push back.
He felt what was going on inside me, and lifted his head, still moving inside me. He watched me, his eyes narrowing. “What are you needing, Little Billie?”
That name.
I came alive, hearing that name. One other person called me that and I hated when they did, but as Brett said it, he claimed it. He was taking it over, and I wanted that more than anything. I cried out, my voice sounding strangled, as I pushed up against him, my hands holding tight to his shoulders.
Brett frowned briefly before adjusting quickly.
He was sitting, and I straddled him, but he hugged me tight to him. We were both moving over the other, both riding our wave, our fronts brushing against each other.
A sheen of perspiration broke out over my skin, and soon the rubbing was smoother. Our bodies were sliding against each other.
I loved this. All of this. This was my man, and I was claiming him, but Brett was also claiming me right back. He held me over him, his arm clasped tightly around me. And then, I paused, my hand sinking in on his shoulder as I lifted myself up, then dropped back down.
He groaned, cursing, before he said, his voice sounding thick, “What are you doing, Bill—”
“No.” My hand snaked up, grabbing the back of his hair and I pulled.
His eyes widened, surprised, but dark desire flooded them immediately.
“You use my name,” I rasped out again.
He frowned before a smooth grin spread out. “Little Billie?”
I moaned, sinking down over his cock and holding there, grinding.
“You like that name?”
I couldn’t respond. The ability to make words come out of me had left me, and it was only the feelings of him inside me, what he was doing to me.
He tipped me back.
I opened my eyes, about to protest, but he pushed me down and came with me, never stopping sliding inside me. “It’s time you come, Little Billie.”
That name.
I was writhing underneath him, the frenzy coming back over me.
“Are you going to run, Little Billie?” He was almost taunting me, but he wanted to come. I heard the need in his voice. He was barely holding onto his own restraint. “Billie,” he snapped, “Are you going to run?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t give in, for some reason.
Feeling that, he paused, in everything.
“No,” left me in a succumbing sigh.
And also feeling that, he held himself above me. “Are you going to run, Billie?”
We held still, this question between us, this moment hanging there because it meant everything somehow.
