"Good girl," he says, the praise detonating something inside me. I clench down on him, every muscle tight. He groans in response, the sound real and unguarded.
He lets go of my throat, and the rush of oxygen nearly knocks me out. I arch back, mouth open, chest heaving, so alive it hurts.
He grabs my hair, yanking my head so I have to look straight at him.
He wants to see me break.
He wants to see every second of it.
He doesn't slow down. He fucks me as hard as he ever has, pushing and pulling at my body like he's trying to yank out my soul. My orgasm is a slow, grinding thing—it builds in little waves, never letting up, never cresting, just growing and growing until it's all I am. Every thrust, every choke, every filthy word he spits in my ear just drives it deeper.
"Come for me," he snarls, and I do, my body convulsing around him, my vision going white.
I try to scream, but nothing comes out. All I can do is claw at his chest, dig my nails into his skin, and ride the aftershocks as they tear me apart.
He doesn't let me come down. He scoops me up off his lap, manhandling me onto the desk, and bends me over it so my face is pressed to the cool black glass.
"Don't fucking move," he growls.
I don't. I couldn't if I wanted to.
He wrenches my skirt up around my waist, spreading my legs wide, then shoves his cock back inside me, fucking me with the same relentless, punishing rhythm. I'm so wet I can hear every brutal thrust. I think I might die, but I want it. I want every second of it.
He leans over me, his chest plastered to my back, one hand on my hip and the other still clutching my hair. He bites the side of my neck hard enough to leave a mark, and then spits pure poison in my ear.
"You want all of me, don't you? You want to be filled in both holes again, you perfect fucking whore?"
I whimper in response, and he laughs, a wicked sound that rings with something wild.
"Then beg," he says, grinding his cock into me while his fingers work my ass, still deep, still stretching me open.
"Please," I gasp. "Please, Asher. I want it. I want you to fuck my ass, please."
He pulls out of my pussy, and the emptiness is almost as devastating as the pressure was. He lines his cock up with my other hole, pushing the spit-slick tip against the tight ring, and then shoves inside, slow at first, then all at once.
The pain is brutal for a split second, and then it's all pleasure, all fullness, all him.
He's thicker than his fingers, so much thicker, and he knows it. He fucks my ass with slow, deliberate thrusts, letting mefeel every inch, every ridge and vein. My whole body is on fire, hypersensitive, nerves raw and exposed. I don't know if I can survive another orgasm, but it's building anyway, a wicked, hot thing in my stomach.
He grabs my hand and drags it down between my thighs, forcing my fingers into my pussy. "Touch yourself," he hisses. "Finger yourself while I use your ass. Let me feel you come again."
I do it because I would do anything for him, anything to keep this feeling. My fingers slip inside. I rub my clit with the heel of my palm, desperate and greedy for more.
"Good girl," he says again, and I come almost immediately, my body clenching tight.
He doesn't stop. He thrusts his own fingers in next to mine, stretching me open. He fucks my ass like he owns it, like nothing else will ever compare, working my cunt at the same time, until I'm sobbing, ruined, gone.
He comes with a roar, his hips jerking, hot as fire as he fills me up. I can feel him pulsing inside me, every spurt a new brand on my body, a new claim.
He pulls out slowly, then bends over and bites my shoulder, soothing it with his tongue. "Mine," he says, and I nod, limp and spent and fucking happy to let him have me.
We don't move for a long time.
When he finally straightens, he cleans us up and then tucks himself away before helping me stand. My legs tremble, barely able to hold my weight, but he catches me, his hands gentle.
I rest my forehead against his, both of us panting.
"You're perfect," he says, his voice cracking.
