Page 98 of Into Her Fantasies


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“Yes?” he growled—spanking both cheeks together now.

“Yes,” I whispered back, my head dropping, my shoulders sagging—

Until he hunched over, jerking my head up with a hand in my hair, using the angle to sink his teeth into the base of my neck.

The pain jolted me even stronger. Fed my need even deeper. Made me moan and buck back against him—a good thing, since his other hand dipped in, seeking the hottest place between my soaked folds. He lunged a finger into me. A second.

I keened.

He purred. “Yes.”

“Y-yes,” I finally stammered, as he worked in a third finger. Stretching me. Pumping into me. “Damn. Yes!”

He nipped his mouth up to my ear. “It will be my cock next.”

I nodded feebly. “Yes, Master.”

“Tell me you want it, Lucina. Use my name this time. I need to hear you say it with desire on your tongue and my touch on your pussy.”

I struggled to summon the words, simply because he was making them impossible. He was making thought itself impossible. “I—I want your cock, Shiraz Cimarron. I want it inside me…filling me…punishing me.”

And maybe the words weren’t so hard after all.

Hardbeing relative.

Because holy shit, did the man’s cock give the word new meaning.

A quick crinkle of foil, a slick of latex over his skin—and another turn-on, thinking he’d come looking for me, already thinking of doing this to me—and he was spreading my sensitive lips, making room for his length down there…

Then filling me down there.

Dominating every inch of my sex.

Pushing deeper, thrusting longer, fucking harder…

Showing no mercy.

Taking me to heaven.

I spiraled up fast and furiously, my clit already primed and aching for his touch. When he slid his fingers from my channel to that hot little ridge, it instantly quaked and throbbed, so ready to burst—

And it did.

A blinding, beautiful cataclysm, taking me to the tips of the treetops then back again on the wings of its perfect bliss…

But my eyes had barely uncrossed from the first orgasm, when he began coaxing me toward the next. Correction: dictating me to it. Literally.

“Such a sweet, wet clit. Rahmié Créacu, woman…how you tremble for my fingers. How you come alive beneath my touch…”

“Holy…shit,” I panted. His velvet words…his long, knowing fingers…his thrusting, relentless cock…he wove a perfect lover’s witchcraft over my helpless, submissive senses and my rejoicing, ecstatic soul. Inside, I begged that the paradise would never end—

Though the rest of me insisted otherwise.

My clit tremored and ached. My intimate walls were collections of clenching need. While I dreaded the explosion about to come, I also prayed like a frantic schoolgirl for it.

“Oh God.”

Perhaps even screamed for it.

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