He wasn’t a quiet man in the sack. I’d noticed that about him early on. He had a habit of moaning, which did things to me that should be illegal. He was verbal and he’d tumble into Sicilian, which told me I’d blown his mind so much that English was beyond him. Tonight, however, he was silent.
All heavy exhalations and deep sighs, sharp moans and long groans.
This man—he destroyed me.
And I wanted him to do it to me every night for the rest of my life.
When I whimpered, that seemed to be his breaking point. His hands no longer shaped my ass, urging me to grind into him. Instead, they lifted me higher as they hauled me against his chest.
When he spun us around on the bed, I laughed into his mouth, the sound breathless and need-filled as he maneuvered me around the mattress like I was his personal marionette.
Looming over me, he spread my legs wider, shoved my panties aside, and fucked his dick into me.
My back arched at the sudden fullness.
I sobbed as he didn’t relent, didn’t give me time to breathe. He filled me. So beautifully. He was so thick and long and my cunt swallowed up every inch of him like the greedy girl he made me.
My fingers dug into his muscles as he blanketed me, pushing me into the bed. Not letting me move. Dominating my space.
For a split second, my mind drifted.
His relentlessness reminded me of another time.
Another place.
Another man.
Then, his lips retreated and he was nipping my earlobe, rumbling, “This pussy is so perfect, Kitty. You take me. All of me. You’re so wet. You’re my downfall and my rise to glory,liunissa.”
His words brought me back to now. I had no idea why that flashback had been tripped after such a great night and when I was so ready for him, but the brain did weird shit all the time.
Maybe he sensed that my need had been quenched somewhat. Because he slowed. And instead of carrying on like my pleasure didn’t matter, he stoked it back to life.
He stokedmeback to life.
It was then I realized why the trauma from that night rarely overset me—because he let me explode at him. He let me cry. He held me through the night. He tucked me into him when I had random nightmares.
He embraced my fears and my trauma andme.
I kissed him when that thought trickled through my mind.
Such acceptance was powerful.
But didn’t I accept him in return?
All the crazy, horrific shit he’d done, the mad stunts he’d pulled, the wicked sins he’d committed—I gave him a hard time about them, but I didn’t deny him.
Because he was it for me.
And I was it for him.
My fires well and truly tended and cosseted back into a blaze, I urged him into moving faster. He shifted on top of me, his bulk pressing me into the mattress, overtaking every single one of my senses. Even better, in this position, somehow, each deep thrust had him grinding against my clit.
I blew up.
Crazy fast.
Crazy strong.
