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It's a collision between past and future. A fulfilment of fates.
And we’re in the tempestuous center of it all. Our bodies. Our hearts.
“Blaste,” I whimper, finding him looking into my eyes with an identical expression.
Shock. Wonder. Gratitude. Affection.
Something slips down my temples and I realize it’s tears.
“I feel it, Shiloh,” he half-gasps, aligning our chests, his forehead on top of mine. “Shhh, baby, I found you. I found you and I’m never letting you go.” He settles his fist on the pillow beside my head, his mouth falling open on a moan as he begins to rock in and out of me, filling me with slow grinds while we inhale and exhale jaggedly against one another’s mouths. “Does it hurt? It must hurt. You’re such a tight fucking squeeze, sugar. I can barely get my cock out far enough to push it back in.”
“Sorry, sorry…”
“You’re sorry?” His drives pick up. Faster. Our flesh beginning to slap together. His groan is so rife with starvation, enjoyment, lust, that it sends a thrill coursing through my body. “Shiloh, you spread your legs like a slut, but you’re tight as a keyhole. Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I’m going to guard this wet little cunt with a fucking shotgun.”
Those filthy words cause a definite twist deep in my belly. They make me wetter. They make me pulse. I can’t explain why and I don’t really want to know. I just want to lay there and take his treatment like a good girl. Satisfy him. It’s a drive, a compelling need. Once again, it just is. And giving myself permission to enjoy his coarse speech, the aggression of his body, it transforms me into a person I didn’t know was hiding beneath the surface.
“Harder,” I whine, flexing my core. “Harder.”
His teeth flash above me. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it.”
Both of his hands wrap around my throat, grip firm, and he begins to take me with unleashed fury. Frustrated male violence. He chokes me tenderly while he slams me with his hips, his huge erection finding its home over and over again between my thighs, while he chants curse words into the cool air. Sweat drips from his forehead and chest onto my breasts and tummy while he takes me, fucking me furiously with his lips peeled back in a snarl. The bedsprings creak wildly, his grunts like a mating call from deep in the wilderness. And I lie flattened between this commanding male and the mattress, being used like a rag doll…and somehow the pleasure is unimaginable. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I don’t have to be anything right now but an object of pleasure. Somehow there has never been anything more freeing. All I can do is focus on what’s being inflicted on my body. Absorb and enjoy it.
And I do.
Oh my God, I do.
Lying in this position, foreheads together, the entire lengths of our bodies touching, his shaft is thrust into me from a breathtaking angle. My clit remains swollen from his mouth and his thick sex rubs against it now, relentlessly, wetly.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathes into my mouth. “You’re getting tighter.”
A sob breaks past my lips. “It’s happening again…”
“You’re coming?” Looking me in the eye, his hips move impossibly faster, bouncing the headboard off the wall, rattling a scream out of my throat. “The phone said women don’t usually come when they’re getting fucked like this.” He nips at my open mouth, growling. “Of course, you’re the exception to the rule, though, huh? You make me do homework before I bang you, then you come twice like a horny brat, opening your legs wide when I tell you to. It was all women’s rights and a prissy attitude until I got my cock out, wasn’t it, sugar?”
I babble a response, but I don’t even know what it is.
I’m being taken so hard, it’s a wonder my rickety bed hasn’t broken yet.
He’s on top of me, sweating and pumping, our bodies connecting furiously, my body being driven several inches up the bed with every drive. I’m a slut. I’m just a dirty little slut who has been waiting for the right man to bring it out of me—and he’s the only one I’ll ever open my legs for, so I give him everything I have, lifting my hips to meet his uncontrolled thrusts, I cinch my intimate muscles up around him and baby talk his name, lights flaring in front of my eyes when the second orgasm crests over me.
“Blaste,” I moan, nails digging into his back, scraping down to his round, flexing buttocks. Burying deep and yanking him home one final time, because I’m somehow already very attuned to this man and know when he’s reaching the end of his rope—and I’m right.
