His fingers barely pause, going straight back to work, inside and outside, rubbing and thrusting and circling and curling until another rush of ecstasy builds.
“Oh, that’s it,” he purrs in my ear. “Do you want me to help you more? Do you want my fat cock inside you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, reaching behind me to grab him but he twists away.
“Nuh-uh-uh. If you want something, ask for it. Didn’t you mother teach you to say pretty please?”
His posture stiffens slightly as he speaks the words, perhaps remembering too late that my mother isn’t around any longer.
I hope if she’s in a better place, looking down at us, she has the good sense to turn away for the next few minutes. Or a bit longer to be sure.
“Please give me your cock,” I say, obedience to this beautiful boy already second nature. “I want you inside me, filling me up.”
There are probably a hundred more ways to beg, to plead, to supplicate myself until he gives me what I so desperately need, but he’s not toying with me. Not yet.
He positions me, then enters me with three hard thrusts, reaching so far inside me it’s like I’m creating a new cavity just for him, so much bigger, wider than my previous partners that they barely count.
“Is that what you wanted?” Lachlan growls in my ear as he grips my thighs in his large hands, spreading them wide with his thick fingers. It alters the angle of his entry, hitting inside me at a different place, creating a new favourite position to add to my limited repertoire. “Am I giving my girl what she needs?”
And it’s that phrase—my girl—that launches me over the edge this time.
A guttural cry half lodges in my throat, caught as my body convulses in pleasure, so soon on the heels of the last one that I can’t believe it happened again, building a crescendo so powerful my ears ring, my fingers digging deep into his hips as I cling to him to steady myself.
He gathers me, no longer spreading my thighs apart but pushing my knees together and pressing my legs back against my chest, hugging around them as his thrusts increase in power, in frequency, in need. My arms are within the same tight band, bent at the elbows and crushed beside my thighs, unable to move anything except my hands, wiggling my fingers.
“One more.” The words are a command, an order. Only a foolish girl would dare disobey and as Patrick said, I’m a smart cookie.
Even so, I’m struggling. The pleasure rapidly moves from just right to far too much. Every nerve in my cunt feels tippedinside out, upside down, presenting themselves when they should be tucked away to avoid pain.
“Stop.” My fingers splay wide. “It’s too much.”
“I say when it’s too much,” he mutters into the side of my neck, but his relentless stroke slows a little, three instead of five, two instead of five, one, and… pause.
Now a new need takes over. The cessation of movement far worse than the messages from my overstimulated nerves.
“Please,” I whimper, doing a one eighty. “Don’t stop.”
“Call that a plea?”
“I need you,” I murmur, trying to move up and down but unable to get anywhere. “I need you inside me.”
His voice is hot against my ear. “I am inside you.”
The need is so loud in my head it’s hard to think. “Start. Please start again.”
He hums against my neck, twisting his head to the side to bite it, teeth sinking farther and farther as his rhythmic thrusts resume, turning me up from zero to one hundred in a few strokes.
I’ve overcome with the need, the supplication, the glorious friction as he thrusts in and out of me, greedily snatching everything his thick cock has to offer and still opening, salivating, begging for more.
All of it combines: the rush of emotion, the giddiness of being alive, the endorphins from the pain and the thrill of danger and fear and doom and him hitting the same spot, therightspot, over and over, mingle into an intoxicant far stronger than the whiskey Lachlan plied me with earlier.
Another orgasm tears through me, leaving me shaking, then revisits, redoubles, fires another shot this time deeper and stronger until I’m on the verge of passing out, my hold on the world suddenly tenuous.
Like my orgasm is a permission slip, Lachlan gives a guttural moan and a few final thrusts, pumping his hot cum into my waiting body. I swear I can feel it jetting up inside, as powerful as every other part of him.
He unwinds me, turning me to my side so I can curl into a ball against his chest, feeling as satisfied as a sleepy cat dozing in the late afternoon sun.
“Call this a date?” I murmur, snorting with laughter as my brain powers down to maintenance levels. “I didn’t even get fed.”
