One hand wraps around my waist, pulling me back against every bruising thrust, the other slides up to grip my throat. “You’re going to get every fucking drop of my cum,” he grits. “I want to see it spill out of your pussy.”
His pace goes wild — no rhythm, no restraint, just raw, animal need.
“Dom,” I sob.
“Does that get you off, baby?” His thumb circles my clit. “The thought of me coming inside you?”
I moan as he rubs my clit, dragging pleasure out of me in every way. “You want that?” he pants. “You want me to fuck my cum into you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, eyes locked on my reflection.
His fingers speed up, thumb tightening its circle. “Oh God,” I gasp, clenching around him. The pressure’s unbearable. I’m right there.
“Come on,” he whispers. “Come for me while you watch. Let go, baby. Give it to me.”
His words undo me. My second orgasm slams through without warning. My whole body goes rigid, nails clawing the countertop as my eyes roll back. I shatter so hard that my world blurs around me.
I feel his pace quickens, turning shallow and frantic. “Fuck,” Dom growls, slamming deeper. His hands gripping my hips so firm I’ll probably wear the marks tomorrow, but I just take it.
A roar tears from him as he drives in one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His muscles lock, his cock throbbing violently inside me. I can feel every thick, pulsing wave as he pours into me.
He drops forward, breath hot and ragged on my shoulder. One hand drifts to my stomach, like heneeds to feel the spot where he’s deepest, where he filled me.
“Every fucking drop,” he pants, pressing as deep as he can. “Just for you.”
He grinds the last pulses into me, head bowed against my back. I stay braced on the counter, breathing, but my knees are gone. My body trembles, my head spins, and my soul feels like it cracked open and he reached right in.
He draws out slowly, and warm wetness slides down the inside of my thighs.
He curses softly behind me. I lift my head, catching a glimpse of him in the window’s reflection — his strong arm braced on the counter, face handsome and raw, and my heart squeezes.
Before I can stop it, a sob slips out, a sound I didn’t know I had left in me. Dom moves instantly.
“Hey, hey — Jessica,” he says, scooping me up and wrapping me in his arms. “Shit, baby, did I hurt you? Talk to me.” His voice is frantic.
“No,” I shake my head, still crying.
He kisses my temple, jaw, cheek, holding me so tight I think he might crush me. “Look at me,” he whispers, tipping my chin up gently. “What’s wrong?”
I try to answer, but words won’t come. My breath is small and shaky, my throat tight. Dom pulls back, brows drawn, panic flickering in his eyes.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Take your time.”
I nod, sniffling, burying my face in his chest. His hand slides down my back in slow strokes. He shifts, reaching for the glass on the counter and brings it to my lips. “Take a sip, baby.”
I do. The cold hits my tongue, sharp and clean, and I pull away after one swallow. Dom watches me, hand low on my back.
He sets the glass down, brushing a loose strand behind my ear. His face is close. I can see flecks of bronze in his dark eyes and the little scar on his brow.
“You okay?” he asks, softer now. “Tell me what happened.”
I look at him — his straight nose, heavy brows that make him look perpetually unimpressed, lips that can build me up or break me down.
He’s so handsome it hurts. And the way he makes me feel—
How am I supposed to survive this when he pulls away and decides we’re done?
I swallow and ask the question. “What do you feel for me?”
