"Fuck," he grits out, his forehead pressed against mine, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. "You feel—insane. Like a fucking vise."
"Move." I dig my nails into the hard muscles of his back, scoring his skin."Please. "
He does. Hard and fast and rough, exactly like he promised. The water churns and splashes around us, sloshing violently over the sides with every powerful drive of his hips. My breasts bounce with the brutal rhythm, heavy and full, my hard nipples rubbing against the coarse hair on his chest, the sensation a sharp, electric counterpoint to the deep, pounding pleasure fucking up into my core.
"You like this, don't you?" His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, forcing my throat into a taut arch. He bites at my jaw, my neck, rough, possessive kisses that feel more like claiming than affection. "You like being taken. Like being my filthy little fucktoy."
I should be offended. But he's right. So fucking right.
And I hate it!
"Yes," I hiss, my own hands roaming over him, gripping his ass, pulling him deeper into me with every thrust.
"You're so fucking greedy for it," he snarls, his voice thick with lust. "Look at you. My cock-hungry doll. My perfect, gorgeous doll. Tell me what you want."
"Dante," I beg, the words tumbling out, raw and desperate. The thought of it, of him emptying himself inside me, pushes me closer to the edge. "Please, Dante. Please."
His rhythm falters for a second, a stutter in his perfect, punishing pace. He leans back, his eyes burning into me, and his hand slides between our bodies. His thumb finds my clit, pressing hard, circling with a ruthless, knowing pressure.
"Then come for me," he commands, his voice low and dark. "Come all over my fucking cock. Let me feel it. Do it now."
The command, the filthy promise in his words, the relentless rub of his thumb and the deep, grinding thrusts of his cock—it’s too much. An orgasm detonates inside me, a white-hot shockwave that seizes every muscle in my body. A broken, screaming cry rips from my lungs as my hips buck wildly against his hand.
"That's it," he grunts, his own control shattering. "Fuck, Bianca, that's so fucking hot."
He drives into me once, twice more, a final, deep, punishing rhythm, and then he stills, burying himself to the hilt. A low, ragged groan tears from his chest as I feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release filling me up. I clench around him, milking every last drop, my own body still twitching with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
For a long moment, we just stay there, joined, panting, our bodies slick with pool water and sweat and my own release. The air is thick with the smell of sex and chlorine. He’s still inside me, softening, and the feeling of him there, of his spend leaking out of me, is possessive and perfect.
He finally leans forward, bracing his hands on the tile on either side of my head, his breath warm against my ear. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice rough. "My come dripping out of your perfect, well-fucked pussy. You took all of it. Every fucking drop, just like I said you would."
He lowers his head and his mouth finds mine again. This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Softer, but no less intense. It’s a claiming of a different kind, a tasting of himself on my lips. It’s possessive and addictive and it makes my head spin. I kiss him back just as hungrily, my fingers threading into his wet hair, holding him to me.
We break apart, breathing heavily. He’s still watching me, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Again," I whisper, the word leaving my mouth before I can stop it. My hands slide down his back, my nails tracing the welts I left there. My legs, which had slipped from his hips, tighten around his waist again. I can feel him, still semi-hard, still nestled inside me. A fresh, desperate ache is already building deep in my belly, a need that he only ignited instead of sated.
And he does. I can’t count how many times we go at it. All I knew was I was high, I was high on Dante.
He picks up the pace again, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise while the other works between us. The combination of sensations builds and builds until I'm shaking with it.
"Come for me," he orders. "Now."
I shatter. The orgasm rips through me so hard I actually scream, not caring who hears, my body arching against his as pleasure crashes through every nerve.
He follows seconds later, his grip on me almost painful as he drives deep one last time.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, the water cooling around us.
Then he pulls out carefully, and I expect him to step back. To put distance between us now that it's done.
Instead, he scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing.
"What are you?—"
"Taking care of you." He carries me out of the pool, grabbing a towel with one hand and wrapping it around me. "You're going to be sore tomorrow."
"I'm fine?—"
