“Whose T-shirt is it?”
I shake my head.
“Very well.” He thrusts back in.
He fucks my mouth until I feel his body tighten, his pace turning rough and urgent.
“Fuck,” he growls. “I’m coming in that pretty mouth of yours. And you’re going to swallow it all, aren’t you?”
I barely manage to nod.
The position we’re in, my head hanging off the bed, drives him impossibly deep. Pain and pleasure blur together until I can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
He hits the back of my throat as he comes with a harsh groan.
“Yes,” he grits out. “That’s it. Take it. Every single drop. Don’t waste any.”
I gag, but manage to swallow, trembling as he empties himself into my mouth.
“Good girl,” he praises darkly.
He pulls out slowly, looking down at me with something dangerously close to tenderness, until the smirk returns.
“So,” he says calmly. “Whose T-shirt is it?”
I am wrecked, my pussy aching. I am so desperate I need him inside me now, and the denial of orgasm only makes it ten times worse.
I shake my head again.
He moves around the bed. I am too spent to follow him properly, until he abruptly turns me onto my stomach, positions my arse high in the air, and a slap lands hard against one cheek.
“Damn,” I mutter.
The sting blooms into pleasure, and all I can think about is how much better it would feel with him inside me.
“Count for me,” he says. “You get ten.”
“You know why?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Words,” he grits out.
“Why?”
“This is your punishment for hurting what’s mine,” he says, and I can hear the dark smirk in his voice. “Though it hardly counts as punishment when you enjoy it this much.”
Another spank lands against my arse.
“Count,” he orders.
“Two,” I pant.
Another slap follows, then a few more in quick succession.
“I don’t hear you.”
“Seven,” I gasp.
