“You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he growls in my ear, his hips never slowing. “Think anyone else knows exactly how to make this greedy cunt squeeze around them?”
My answer is lost in a broken moan as he shoves my face back down into the mattress, his hand pressing between my shoulder blades. The new angle lets him hit even deeper, and I can feel him bottoming out with each thrust.
“Answer me,” he demands, slapping my ass hard enough to leave a handprint.
“No!” I manage to gasp. “Nobody—fuck—nobody else!”
“That's right,” he says, leaning over mehe licks a hot stripe up my spine before biting the nape of my neck. “This pussy belongs to me. Every. Fucking. Inch. Of. It.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust so deep I swear I can feel him in my throat.
He pulls out suddenly, flipping me onto my back before I can even process what's happening. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide as he enters me again. The new position lets me see his face—pupils wide with lust, jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Look at me,” he commands, one hand moving to grip my chin. “I want you to see who's fucking you. Who's ruining you for everyone else.”
His pace is relentless, his cock dragging against my walls in a way that has me seeing stars. My hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I try to ground myself.
“You're gonna remember this,” he growls, his thumb pressing against my bottom lip. “Every time you sit down, every time you walk, you're gonna feel me.”
“Nobody fucks me like you do,” I cry out, tears streaming down my face as he leans over, tracing a path up my neck until he’s licking up my tears.
“Fucking come for me,” he demands, and even if I wanted to deny him, I couldn’t.
I'm screaming his name, clawing at his back, my pussy clenching around him so hard it's almost painful. White-hot pleasure explodes behind my eyelids, spreading outward until my fingertips tingle and my toes curl.
“Fuck, yes,” Beckham hisses, his rhythm faltering as my walls clamp down on him. “That's it, milk me.”
I'm still shaking, aftershocks rippling through me whenhe buries himself deep with a guttural roar. I feel his cock pulse inside me. His face is beautiful in his pleasure—eyes screwed shut, veins standing out on his neck. He’s just always so fucking beautiful.
He collapses on top of me, his weight crushing me into the mattress in the best way. We're both panting, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as we struggle to catch our breath. His cock is still buried inside me, twitching occasionally.
After a long moment, he rolls onto his back, taking me with him so I'm sprawled across his chest. He doesn't slip out of me. One of his hands strokes lazily up and down my spine while the other cups my ass, holding me in place.
“Holy shit,” I mumble against his chest, too boneless to even lift my head. My fingers trace patterns through the dark hair covering his pecs, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow beneath my palm.
My eyelids are impossibly heavy, the combination of multiple orgasms and emotional exhaustion pulling me toward sleep despite our sticky, sweaty state.
“You're fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. His hand continues its slow path up and down my back, soothing me deeper into drowsiness.
I nuzzle closer, breathing him in as my consciousness starts to slip. My limbs feel like lead, my brain fuzzy with satisfaction and fatigue. I'm vaguely aware of his cock softening inside me, but he makes no move to separate us, keeping me anchored to him.
I feel his chest rise with a deep breath, his lips moving against my hair. He murmurs something, but his voice is so low I can’t hear it, no matter how hard I strain.
My last conscious thought is wondering what he said—is this something special, or just another regret?
Chapter 14
Hennessy
“Fucking turn that thing off,” Beckham growls, his voice thick with sleep and annoyance as my phone rings for what must be the tenth time in two minutes.
I groan, my entire body protesting as I reach for the nightstand. Every muscle aches, reminders of how many times he took me last night. The sheets are tangled around my naked body, and I can feel the dried evidence of our activities on my inner thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, squinting at the screen through sleep-crusted eyes. Seven missed calls and thirteen text messages. All from my dad.
Beckham throws his arm over his face. “If you don't answer it, I'm going to throw it against the fucking wall.”
I roll my eyes and hit accept, immediately switching to Spanish. “Hola, Papi. ¿Qué pasa?”
Beckham's entire body goes rigid beside me. I can practically feel the panic radiating off him as he realizes who I'm talking to.
