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His hands grip my waist, and without warning, he’s pulling me back, easing inside me, and I suck in a breath. The feeling of him invading me is delicious and filling, and I can’t get enough of it. I push back, trying to get him to go faster.
“Whoa, slow down,” he says with a chuckle.
But I don’t. I keep backing up, and he finally slams home, making me cry out. His hand finds my mouth, covering it as he shushes me.
“I can’t help it,” I say as soon as he moves his hand. “Keep going.”
“Bossy,” he says, but his fingers dig into my flesh as he picks up his rhythm, shutting me up as moans overtake me, my senses overwhelmed.
Our bodies slap together in a sensual dance as we consume each other, my fingers gripping the comforter, knuckles white as he hits all the right spots inside of me.
He releases one side of me to reach around my front, his fingers finding my clit as he slows, setting a lazier tempo instead of the punishing one from just before.
“Does this feel good?” he asks, and I can’t answer beyond a groan as my orgasm builds. He has magic hands, which makes sense because he’s a surgeon. Nimble fingers and all that. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” I say, gritting my teeth as I buck against him. “Keep doing that.”
I whine into the top of the bed as the pleasure in my body finally crescendos, slicing through my body and lighting all my nerve endings on fire. Simon doesn’t let up until I’m a boneless mess beneath him, and then he’s pulling me back up, resuming the rapid thrusting.
It sends aftershocks through my body, and I’m trying to catch my breath as he slams hard into me one, two, three times. Then, with a grunt, he falls over my body, melding our sweaty skin together.
We breathe in tandem as my mind races. I simultaneously want to fall asleep in his arms or do it again—I can’t decide.
But either way … I’m fucked.
