“Yes—”
“This perfect littlecunt.” He punctuates the word with a harder thrust that makes me cry out. “Made for me. Like you were fucking designed for me.”
And he’s right. In all the chaos of my body, in the haze of my head, I know he’s the only one in the whole world who could do this to me and not die from it. The one person, that one person…
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point, and I dig my nails into his shoulders. The pain has faded completely now, replaced by a building pleasure that coils tighter with every stroke. I can hear myself making sounds, breathy, desperate sounds I don’t recognize, and I can hearhim—the low grunts that escape with each thrust, the wet catch ofhis breath against my throat, how it’s turning me on past the brink.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you like this,” he growls against my skin. “Spread out underneath me, making those sounds, taking my cock like you were born for it.”
“Nate—”
“Thought about it in the shower this morning. Thought about bending you over my kitchen counter. Thought about fucking you against the window so all of Manhattan could see who you belong to.”
His words are gasoline, his cock the match. I’m burning up from the inside, every nerve ending screaming for more. Sweat is pooling in the hollow of my throat, sliding down between my breasts, and I can feel the slick heat where our bodies meet, the obscene glide of skin on skin.
“Harder,” I gasp. “Please, I need?—”
He doesn’t make me finish. His hips snap forward with punishing force, and I scream—actuallyscream—as the new angle hits something that makes my eyes roll back.
“There?” He does it again, grinning when I wail. “Right there, isn’t it? That spot that makes you lose your fucking mind?”
I can’t answer, can’t form words. All I can do is hold on as he pounds into me, his pace brutal, relentless. The headboard cracks against the wall. The bed groans beneath us. My calves are burning where they’re locked around his back, and my abs tremble from the constant arch of my spine, but I don’t care—can’t care—because every thrust is pushing me higher, higher, into the unknown.
“Listen to you.” His voice is rich with satisfaction. “Listen to how wet you are. Fucking soaked for me. Can you hear it? Can you hear how badly your cunt wants this?”
I can. The slick sound of him moving inside me is pornographic, nearly vulgar. It should embarrass me, but instead, it just makes everything that much hotter.
“Gonna make you come on my cock,” he promises. “Feel this tight little pussy squeeze me until I lose my goddamn mind. And then I’m gonna fill you up. Mark you from the inside. Make sure you feel me for days.”
Jesus Christ.
He’s going to ruin me.
But I can only yelp, “Oh God!” as the orgasm builds, a wave cresting into a tsunami. I can feel it gathering at the base of my spine, in the tight clench of my thighs. “Oh God, I’m close?—”
“Not yet.” He slows suddenly, grinding deep instead of thrusting, and I nearly sob with frustration. The pressure is there but the rhythm is gone, and my body screams at the loss.
“Nate!” I cry out, surprised at how damn desperate I sound.
“Not until I say.” He pulls out completely, leaving me empty and aching, and I make a sound of pure anguish. The sudden absence of him is almost painful—my walls clenching around nothing, searching for something no longer there.
Made for me. He was made for me.
“Please—”
“Turn over,” he commands, splaying his fingers across my stomach, showing off how large his hands are before they slide down to my back.
My limbs feel like water, but with his help, I manage to flip over. The sheets are damp beneath me, twisted and ruined, and the air is thick with the smell of sex. His hands grip my hips, hauling me roughly onto my hands and knees, and then he’s slamming back into me from behind with no warning.
“Fuck!” I yelp. The angle is deeper this way, almost too deep, and I fist the sheets as he sets a punishing rhythm. I can feel him everywhere—the bruising grip of his fingers on my hips, the slapof his thighs against the backs of mine, the impossible depth of him hitting places I didn’t know existed.
“You should see yourself, darlin’.” His hand slides up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades until my chest hits the mattress. The position arches my back further, tilting my hips up, and the next thrust makes me see stars. “Face down, ass up, taking everything I give you. Prettiest thing I ever did see.”
I moan into the pillow, beyond words, beyond thought. There’s only sensation—the relentless drive of his cock, the burn of overworked muscles, the slap of his hips against my arse, the obscene wet sounds of our fucking. My knees ache against the mattress, my throat raw from moaning, and I don’t care. Nothing exists outside of this.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Rub that sweet clit for me. I want to watch.”
I snake a hand beneath me, finding my swollen clit, and the first brush of my fingers makes me jerk. I’m so sensitive, so close already—the bud is slick and hot beneath my fingertips, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
