“I’m gonna…” I whimpered.
He increased the pressure, tongue flicking faster, fingers curling harder, finding that spot deep inside. The orgasm didn’t crest… it exploded. It ripped through me, a seismic release that locked my muscles and stole my breath.
A raw scream tore from my throat as my body convulsed under the relentless torture of his mouth. He didn’t let up, drinking down every pulse and shudder, drawing out thepleasure until it bordered on pain, until I was sobbing his name, boneless and trembling.
Slowly, gently, he withdrew and lifted his head, his mouth glistening. He rose to his feet, his cock straining visibly.
Before I could catch my breath, his hands were on my hips. He turned me, rolling me to my stomach, positioning my feet on the floor, and my upper body braced on my forearms.
The hot, heavy weight of him rested against the curve of my ass. He leaned over me, chest pressed to my back, mouth at my ear.
“That was just the beginning, baby,” he whispered. One hand smoothed down my spine, possessive. The other guided the head of his cock through my pussy, not entering. Just coating himself in my arousal, making me shudder.
“You’re so wet for me,” he growled. “Still dripping from my mouth. Tell me what you want.”
“Yes,” I gasped, pushing back against him. “Please, Owen. I need you.”
“How?”
“Inside me. Now.”
He rewarded my begging with a low, approving groan. He positioned himself, the blunt head pressing against my entrance.
And then he jerked his hip forward, burying himself to the hilt in one long, brutal stroke.
The fullness was breathtaking. I cried out, my inner muscles clenching around the sudden, delicious invasion. He was thick and hard. He stayed there, buried deep, letting me adjust, his body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Fuck,” he choked out. “You’re so tight.”
He began to move. Long, powerful strokes that pulled almost all the way out before driving back in with a force that rocked my entire body forward. The slap of skin against skin was loud in thequiet room. Each thrust hit a deeper, pleasure building on the heels of my last climax.
His hands gripped my hips hard, fingers sure to leave bruises. He set a punishing, perfect pace.
“You take me so well,” he grunted. “My good girl.”
His words were a catalyst, pouring gasoline on the fire inside me.
He leaned further over me, chest plastered to my back, mouth at my ear. His thrusts became shorter, harder, and more focused. “You feel that? That’s how much I want you. Every inch.”
I was moaning with every drive, meaningless syllables of pleasure. The table creaked beneath us.
“I’m close,” I panted. “Again. So close.”
“Come for me,” he commanded, his hand slipping around my hip, fingers finding my already sensitive clit. He rubbed tight, quick circles exactly where I needed. “Let me feel you.”
It was too much. The overstimulation, the deep penetration, the rough, possessive words. The second orgasm crashed over me, more intense than the first. My vision whited out. My cries were swallowed by the wood of the table as I clenched around him, body seizing in violent, uncontrollable spasms.
My climax triggered his. With a roar that was part triumph, part surrender, he pistoned into me twice more before slamming home and holding deep. I felt the hot pulse of his release inside me, and the sensation prolonged my own shudders. He collapsed over me, his weight a welcome anchor as we both gasped for air, slick with sweat, trembling in the aftermath.
He was still buried inside me, still throbbing, when he nuzzled my neck. His voice came out hoarse and sated against my skin. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 39
HARLOW
The woman staring backat me in the mirror looked like a stranger.
