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“Shhh.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “It’ll be OK. Just stop fighting. You’re small. You need to relax. Trust me.”
Trust him. Hah. She didn’t even know what it would feel like to trust him, or anyone. He kept doing his thing, and the pleasure warped out of control, swelling into something huge, scary, something lethal—
It hit her, slamming her, with emotion, sensation, who the hell knew. It had no name, no precedent. It knocked her out.
She floated back after a while, limp and disoriented. Amazed she was still there at all. Still alive. Still herself.
Bruno was crouched on the floor, digging in the pocket of his jacket. A rustle, a soft rip of foil. Good thing he was being responsible. She herself had forgotten all about that. Shockingly stupid of her.
Bruno stretched her out on the couch. She shivered, boneless and soft. So vulnerable. Like a virgin on a sacrificial altar. He folded her legs wide, poised himself between them.
He started slowly petting her slit with the head of his cock. The up-and-down swipe made her writhe with ticklish delight, wiggling to take more of him. He leaned back. Goddamn tease. She arched her back, reaching to grab his ass, pull him in where he belonged.
His white teeth flashed, and he swirled himself, lodging the head of his cock inside her, slowing down at the resistance he found there. Rocking, pushing. She arched, panting with eagerness. Wow, he was hard, blunt. But she was ready. Primed to screaming.
His weight bore down, driving deep, in a tight, delicious shove. She grabbed as much of his upper arms as she could wrap her fingers around and pressed back, arching her back, pulsing her hips against him greedily. Their eyes locked. His face was tense, all teasing gone. A muscle pulsing in his locked jaw.
He lowered himself, covering her body with his heat, his weight. The blanket he’d draped over the back of the couch fell down, covering his shoulders and the back of his head, blocking out what light there was. She was swaddled in a tight, breathless cocoon, with this big, hard, hot man all over her. Deep inside her.
He stared into her eyes and began to move. It blazed out of him, as clearly as words. Each lunge into her body saidmine, mine, mine.
She hadn’t signed up to be his, or anyone’s, but it was happening anyway. It was too much. It was killing her, how good it was. Each stroke a hot, liquid lick of melting pleasure.
She started to fight again, just to make it back off enough so she could find her separate self again, but it was like fighting a mountain. His weight pinned her against the squishy couch. His cock pumped, slick and deep into the well of delicious sensation between her legs, twisting and swirling, finding so many madly lit up sweet spots inside her, and stroking over them, and over them, ah, God,again…
Her legs twined around his, trapping him deeper. She bucked and wiggled to get him exactly where she wanted him, and he followed every cue almost before she gave it. More tears slid out, but she no longer cared about the makeup mudslide. She whipped her head from side to side, whimpering with every heavy lunge.
He cupped her head, stared into her eyes, and kissed her. A kiss to draw her soul out of her body, but he gave her his own in return. And the possessive, obsessive chorus ofmine, mine, minewith each frenzied stroke–it was coming from her, now, too. He was hers. All hers.
Things got incoherent, after that, yet never had anything seemed so real, so vivid, so clear. They were gasping, yelling. The blanket tumbled with them as they slid off the couch and thudded to the floor, Bruno on the bottom. He slammed his arm into the coffee table, shoving it out of the way. It teetered, tipped.
She clawed the blanket off, wanting no barriers, and rode him hard, clutching his arms, her head flung back in pounding abandon. She was fever hot, glowing like a coal in the dark netherworld of that chilly apartment. He jolted upward against her, his fingers digging into her ass. Every thud of contact sharpened her wild, driving need.
He flipped her, pinned her, and she was on the bottom again, his tongue thrusting, twining with hers, his hips surging, heaving—
Pleasure ripped through them both, violent, relentless.
It left them a wreck of tangled, sweat soaked limbs, gasping for breath. Flattened and limp. Sweet devastation.
Some time later, the sweat had cooled. Bruno moved, feebly, to extricate himself. He slid out, leaving her collapsed, abandoned, alone.
And suddenly, horribly sad.
She braced herself, for the moment of truth. What the truth was, she didn’t know, but it was sure to be anticlimactic.
Bruno dropped his head into his hands. “Mother of God,” he muttered. “That was…what just happened?”
She pushed herself up onto her knees. She’d lost a stocking in the frenzy. The other dangled off her ankle. “I, ah, don’t know.”
“Did I hurt you?” He sounded like he was holding his breath.
“No,” she said hastily. “God, no. Not at all. On the contrary.”
He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
She was hit by an unexpected wave of tenderness. Aw. He was an awfully sweet guy, totally apart from the celestial sex god thing. She reached to touch his face. He was so warm, the skin so supple, the stubble scraping her fingertips. She pulled away before he had a chance to reject the gesture. Didn’t want to embarrass the man to death.
He caught her hand, yanked her close, and suddenly they were kissing again, like horny teenagers in a back seat. It made something ache and burn in her chest. He clamped her against him silently demanding intimacy of a magnitude she’d never even known existed.
