I want my orgasm.
He’s giving it to me, with his body, yes, but also with his urgency. His hunger.
It tickles me, turns me on, heightens my own pleasure, watching him come undone—
There’s a snap inside of me.
What was that?
“Was that the condom?”
I only catch a flash of Barry’s concern before his mouth seals over mine and he’s kissing me, fucking me harder, his hips moving at the speed of light.
But…no.
The condom is broken.
And he’s going to ejaculate inside of me, regardless?
“Barry!” He lifts his head, and I see it, the shame mixed in among his intense hunger. “You have to pull out. You have to put on a different condom.”
“Don’t you know I’ll just break the next one, too?” he roars against my mouth. “No man could be gentle with this perfect little hole.”
Panicked, wanting to impress upon him the seriousness of what’s happening, I slap him across the face. Twice. But onlypins my wrists above my head, causing my back to arch. Causing a new angle of friction against my clit.
“Ohhhh.”
“There’s my princess.” He picks up the pace again, his gaze almost black with intensity. “Those baby slaps only turn me on. Feel how much? Feel how thick they get me?”
“Barry,” I wail, my sex beginning to throb ominously, preparing for release. It’s right there, golden and shimmering. “Youcan’t!”
“Can’t what?”
“Get me pregnant!”
A look of realization moves in his eyes, and he roars a curse, burying his face in my neck a moment while he pummels me with angry pumps, violently rocking my body, smearing me through the forest floor. He’s so swollen inside of me, I think it’s a lost cause, especially when the thought of Barry impregnating me is what causes me to spiral into orgasm and I moan brokenly, convulsing beneath him, my legs pinwheeling and kicking, before the heels of my feet eventually bury in his thrusting buttocks, only egging him on more. His hips piston, his large body riding mine into the ground, and I think he’s lost all semblance of control. That there’s no way he can pull out.
“Son of a bitch,” he grits out, his thickness deserting me suddenly, his hand blurring furiously between us while he jacks off ropes of semen onto my sex and stomach, his eyes unseeing above me. “Oh my God, princess.Oh my God.”
I’m so sated and warm and connected to him, but at my own behest, I wasn’t able to experience that final moment of connection to him, and I can’t help but feel robbed. Like I missed something, even though it was totally necessary to deny us that mutual rapture. Of having his body joined with mine when he peaked.
It’s for the best.
Definitely for the best.
But he’s searching my face while he tries to regain his breath, obviously concerned by the ridiculous tears in my eyes.
“Are you okay, Petra. Did I—”
“It was wonderful,” I breathe, hugging him, rubbing my shoulder on the beefy warmth of his shoulder. “I’m a post-sex crier, I guess. Who knew?”
“Who knew, indeed,” he murmurs, looking down at me in unabashed awe. But it gives way to genuine curiosity. “You’re…so worried about getting pregnant?”
Not wanting to rat out his grandmother or bring up something painful from his past, I just smile. “Of course I am. I’m only nineteen, remember?” When that only seems to upset him, I blurt, “N-not that I’ve read the rule book, but I’m pretty sure the first commandment of being an escort is ‘thou shalt not get knocked up.’”
“Right.” He looks down at our still-aligned bodies, a line ticking in his jaw. “I…wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
No, I don’t want to do thatto you.
