I scramble to the other end. “Tell me!”
“A saline solution,” he answers, undoing his slacks.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“All this fighting made me horny as fuck.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to have sex with you!”
“You should realize by now that whatever I want is mine, by any means necessary.”
“A victory gained by force is hollow.”
“I beg to differ. A victory, especially one gained by force, is the sweetest aphrodisiac.” Art latches onto my ankles and drags me across the sofa. I sit up, slapping him across the face. He pushes me back, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.
“Keep fighting. It makes my dick harder.” He pries my thighs apart, then settles between them, pressing me into the cushions with his heavy weight.
“I hope you burn in hell,” I grind out. “Does having power over me make you feel like a big strong man?”
“It’s almost better than coming deep in your pussy,” he says, licking me from my chin to my forehead.
“You’re a weak, pathetic excuse of a human being.”
“You can pretend you’re not enjoying every single minute, but—” His hand slips under my dress and pushes into my panties, easily penetrating my center.
I bite my tongue to silence my moan. He slowly withdraws, lifting two glistening fingers to my face, showing me what I already know.I’m wet as shit.
“This doesn’t lie.” He brings his fingers to his nose and inhales deeply before lapping them clean. “So fucking tasty.”
“Can I taste?”
Art opens his mouth, presenting his tongue, and I eagerly suck on it as he enters my body. He fucks me slow, tenderly—not hard, which is his usual method, but the effect on me is just as profound. This is different. A claiming. He’s making love to me for the first time, and I bask in it. It’s too overpowering—every thrust, every sensual kiss—God help me. Is it possible to die from extreme pleasure?
“You’re crying.” He licks my tears.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Please, I need to touch you.”
He releases my wrists, allowing me free rein. I pay homage to the sleek muscles of his arms and back.
“Look at me.”
The intensity reflecting in his sparkling green eyes is overwhelming.
“You feel it too,” I whisper.
“I’ve always felt it.”
I fall over the edge and he follows behind me. We hold each other, sated and breathless.
“It’s true what they say.”
“About what?”
“Pussy is riper during pregnancy.”
