"Don't stop," I tell her. "Keep moving. Take what you need."
"Bruno—" Her voice is strained. Panicked. "Something's—I feel—we need to stop?—"
I know what she's feeling.
"Don't stop," I repeat. My grip on her hips turns bruising. "Keep moving. Don't you dare fucking stop."
"But—"
"Trust me."
She does.
Her hips keep moving. Faster. Harder. Her walls clench around me so tight I can barely breathe.
"Bruno—Bruno—I can't?—"
"Yes you can. Let go. Give it to me."
She screams again.
Her whole body convulses.
And then?—
Fuck.
She squirts.
It hits my stomach first. Hot and wet. Then she shifts, and it sprays higher. Across my chest. My neck.
My face.
I open my mouth.
I taste her.
Sweet. Musky. Perfect.
She's still screaming. Still shaking. Her walls pulse around my cock in waves, squeezing me so hard I see stars.
"That's it," I growl. "That's my good girl. Give me all of it."
She does.
It keeps coming. Soaking me. Soaking the sheets beneath us. Her thighs tremble against my hips. Her hands slip on my wet chest.
I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
My balls tighten.
The pressure at the base of my spine builds to a breaking point.
"Antonella—" My voice is wrecked. "I'm going to come. Lift up."
She's still shaking. Still lost in her orgasm. But she hears me.
She lifts her hips.
