My legs start to tremble, the strain of holding myself up, of enduring this exquisite punishment becoming too much. I feel myself beginning to weaken, to slide down the cool, smooth glass.
West feels it too. “Not yet,” he grunts, the command a low growl. “You don't get to collapse until I say so.”
He moves with an impossible grace, his arms banding around my waist, lifting me effortlessly. My feet leave the floor, but he doesn't pull out of me. He holds me aloft, his strength staggering, his body still pistoning into mine.
West repositions me, turning us both so my back is now pressed against the cold, hard plane of the glass. He holds me up, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, my arms around his neck. The new angle is devastating, allowing him to sink even deeper, to hit that spot with even more devastating force.
My head falls back, thunking softly against the glass. I am completely exposed, spread open for him, my entire body at his mercy. I have never felt more powerful.
His right arm bands around my waist, holding me up, securing me to him. His left hand leaves my throat and moves in a slow, deliberate journey that makes my skin prickle. His fingers trail up my arm, a possessive caress. He grips my jaw, turningmy face toward his. The gesture is gentle, but the command is absolute. He wants me to see him.
“I want to see your eyes when you come,” he says, his voice a raw, ragged sound. “I want you to see who is making you fall apart.”
His gaze is burning, a dark, possessive fire that holds me captive. He is not just fucking me, he is devouring me. He is consuming my very soul.
And then, he does the one thing that shatters me completely.
His left arm snakes around my neck, not a grip, not a chokehold but a slow, deliberate fold. He doesn't squeeze. He simply folds my throat into the crook of his elbow, locking me in place. My head is nestled in the warm, hard muscle of his arm, my body entirely supported by him, wholly and utterly at his mercy.
The position is one of absolute surrender, of total control. My airway is not constricted, but the potential, the intimate knowledge that he could end me with a simple flex of muscle is a brand of fire on my soul. My hands, which were clinging to his shoulders, fly to his arms, my fingers digging into the hard, unyielding flesh. Not to push him away but to hold on, to anchor myself to the man who is both my tormentor and my savior.
“West,” I gasp, the name a torn, ragged sob. “Oh, God...”
“That's right,” he growls, the words a hot, possessive vibration against my ear. “God isn't here, Kinsley. I am.”
He starts to move again, and this is different. This is no longer a dance or a performance, this is a claim. Each thrust is a brutal, deliberate act of ownership. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot deep inside me with an unerring, devastating accuracy that blurs my vision. The pleasure is a white-hot, all-consuming fire, a tidal wave that is threatening to pull me under.
My body is no longer my own. It is an instrument and he is the master, playing it with a ruthless, symphonic precision. Myhips buck against him in a frantic, desperate rhythm, seeking more of that intoxicating pleasure, seeking the release I am now desperate for. The fight is gone, the resistance is gone. There is only this overwhelming, all-consuming need.
His right arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer while his left arm remains a steady, possessive pressure at my throat. He is my anchor and my storm, the rock I'm clinging to and the wave that's threatening to shatter me. The city lights below are a meaningless blur, a distant, irrelevant world. The only reality is the hard, solid strength of him. The punishing rhythm of his hips, the possessive fire in his eyes.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low growl. I force my eyes open, my vision blurry with tears of overwhelming sensation. His eyes are burning, holding me captive. He wants to see my surrender, he wants to watch me break. “Don't you dare look away. I want to see your face when you come for me, right here, against this window with the whole world at your feet.”
His words are a final, brutal assault, breaking down the last of my defenses. He increases the pressure, his hips snapping forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm that pushes me higher and higher, stretching me to the absolute limit of my control.
The pressure inside me is a coiled spring, wound tighter and tighter. My back arches, my hands still trapped in his, clench and unclench. My mind is a blank canvas, painted over and over with the single, overwhelming sensation of him.
“Please,” I gasp, the word torn from my throat. “Please, West.”
“Please what?” he demands, his voice a low growl, his hips never faltering. “Tell me what you want. Beg for it.”
“I want… I need…” I can't form the words. The pleasure is too great, a desperate, aching thing that has stolen my voice. A sob breaks from my lips instead, a sound of pure, desperate need.
That is the surrender he was waiting for.
“Now,” he commands, his voice a raw, ragged sound. “Come for me now, my little storm.”
He gives me what I’ve been begging for, pushing me past the point of thought, past the point of reason. The pressure builds into an unbearable, exquisite agony. My back arches off the glass, my body a taut bowstring pulled to its absolute limit.
And then it snaps.
A scream is torn from my soul as my climax rips through me. It’s not a gentle wave; it’s a shattering. A whiteout of pure sensation that obliterates everything. My body convulses around him, my muscles clenching and unclenching in violent, uncontrollable spasms. The city lights explode into a supernova, and the world dissolves into nothing but the feeling of him is buried deep inside me, holding me together as I fall apart.
He feels every tremor, every aftershock. A deep, guttural groan is torn from his chest, a sound of pure, triumphant victory. He drives into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his body going rigid. I feel the hot, flooding rush of his release deep inside me, a final, absolute brand.
The storm passes.
For a long moment there is only silence, broken by our ragged, gasping breaths. He doesn’t pull out. He stays buried inside me, his forehead pressed against mine, holding my entire weight against the glass. The city glitters below us, indifferent and beautiful. His arm is still banded around my waist, his other hand tangled in my hair. He is my anchor, my cage, my entire world.
