Right when the world starts to dissolve into pure, white-hot sensation, he stops. His hand pulls away completely.
No! Please no!
I whimper my protests.
“Not yet.” His voice is a command, a low growl that vibrates through me.
“Bastard—” I snarl, my body screaming, teetering on the very edge.
He cuts me off, not with words, but with his mouth. He crashes his lips to mine, and it’s not tender, it’severything. It’s an obsession. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming my mouth with a primitive hunger that makes my knees weak. I kiss him back just as fiercely, my hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer. I can taste the faint hint of coffee and pure, masculinehim, and it’s the most addictive thing I’ve ever known. We break for air, gasping, and he immediately dives back in, his lips softer this time, sucking on my bottom lip, nibbling, making a low groan rumble in his chest. It’s a kiss that says he’s starved for me, a kiss that promises this is just the beginning.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing hot, wet kisses down my jaw, my throat, his tongue laving the water from my skin. He bends a bit, his hands sliding up my thighs to grip my waist. His eyes are locked on my breasts, and the look in them is pure, unadulterated lust. He just stares for a moment, and the intensity of his gaze is a bit overwhelming.
“Fuck, look at these,” he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His big hands come up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making me cry out. “So fucking perfect. Heavy. They fill my hands so good, Bianca.” He leans forward and takes one pebbled peak into his hot mouth, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive tip. The sensation is electric, a joltstraight to my core. He switches to the other, giving it the same lavish, sucking attention, biting down just enough to make me gasp and arch into him. My breasts feel so full, so sensitive, and the sight of him worshipping them, water dripping from his hair onto my skin, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
He looks up at me from his position, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark pits of desire. “You like that? You like me sucking on these perfect tits? You were built for this, for a man’s mouth, for my mouth.”
“Y-Yes,” I hear myself moan, my fingers tightening in his hair.
His hand slides between my legs again, fingers slipping easily through my slick folds. “And this pretty, greedy cunt,” he says, his voice dropping. “Dripping for me. Already so fucking messy. My messy, filthy girl.”
The words are crude, degrading, but the way he says them, with such raw admiration, sends a new wave of heat through me. The whiplash is dizzying, perfect. He’s praising me by calling me his filthy thing, and it makes me want to be even filthier for him.
What is wrong with me?
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he goads, his fingers tracing my entrance but not pushing in. “You love it. You love being my desperate, soaked little fucktoy.”
“I love it,” I pant, the admission torn from me. “I love it.Please.”
“Please what?” He leans in, his breath hot on my inner thigh. “Use your words, Bianca. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I need you to fuck me,” I beg, the words leaving me in a rush. “I want your cock inside me. Right now. I need to feel you stretching me open. I need to come on your cock.”
His groan is deep, pained. He surges closer, his body a solid, heated wall against mine. He grabs my thigh, hooking my leg around his hip, and I feel the blunt, insistent head of his cock press against me. He doesn’t push in. He just holds it there, a tormenting promise.
“You’re going to come the second I’m all the way inside, aren’t you?” he growls, his forehead pressed to mine. “My good, filthy, perfect girl. You were born to take my cock.”
I can only whimper in answer because yes, I am going to cum once he’s all the way inside me.
He lifts me, positioning me against the edge of the pool. The water laps at my waist as he spreads my thighs, settling between them.
"Last chance," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "Say the word and we stop."
I could. Should, maybe. This is dangerous. Complicated. Everything I swore I wouldn't do.
But I don't want to stop.
I’ll let myself regret it tomorrow if it comes to that. Tonight, I’ll die if I don’t have him.
"Don't you dare stop," I tell him, my voice a raw scrape.
He pushes inside me in one hard, fucking thrust, and a choked, guttural sob tears out of me. He’s so big, stretching me wide, filling me up in a way that makes my vision blur at the edges. The stretch is perfect, a burning, delicious fullness that is exactly what my body was screaming for.
And just like he said, my body spasms so hard I almost dislodge him, my orgasm tearing another choked cry, my fingers digging into his skin.
He groans loud, holding so still I’m afraid he’s a statue.
After my orgasm fades, he licks my neck.
