My vision whites out.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
There’s only the brutal perfection of his body driving into mine and his fingers playing me like an instrument he owns.
But he’s still not done.
“One more,” he demands, his voice strained. “Give me one more, Sorrel.”
“Gregory--” My voice is broken, wrecked.
I’mwrecked.
Every nerve ending is raw, oversensitive, screaming.
“Who do youbelongto?” he asks against my ear, his hips still pistoning relentlessly. The question is possessive and sinks into my very bones.
“You,” I gasp. The word is barely there. Just a breath, a whimper.
“Say it again.”
“Yours,” I pant. “I’m... yours.”
He’s grinning wickedly, his hair damp with sweat, those blue eyes burning with both triumph and hunger. “That’s right.Mine.”
The declaration combined with the relentless pounding sends me over the edge yet again.
This final orgasm is more intense.
Like every nerve ending in my body is firing all at once.
It starts deep in my core, a supernova of pleasure that explodes outward, radiating through my limbs, my fingertips, my toes.
Gregory.
Fuck.
Gregory.
Fuck.
GRE-GOR-REEEE.
I’m shaking, convulsing, my pussy gripping him in rhythmic waves that feel like they’ll never end.
I’m saying something... maybe his name, maybe nonsense, maybe prayers.
Finally I feel him shudder as his own control snaps. He buries himself deep, and follows me over with a groan that sounds like it’s been torn from his very core.
His cock throbs inside me, pulsing agonizingly, and I can feel the heat of his release even through the condom.
We collapse together on the sectional, both gasping and sweaty in the heat of the great hall.
After a moment, he withdraws and disposes of the condom.
Then he’s pulling me onto the floor, into our nest, and against his chest, wrapping us both in the blankets we’ve been sharing for days.
