“How do you want it?”
His thrusts start slow and soft. I tug on the hair at the nape of his neck again and speak in a raspy tone.
“Hard. Fuck me into being yours or don’t do it at all.”
It’s instant. Something snaps. The muscles of his chest tighten and the grip around my waist digs rough into the bone.
“You want to be fucked like a slut, Princess?” His words are menacing and dirty, and they set every part of my body alit.
The name isn’t offensive. It’s hot and sexy and lust-filled because I know it’s for me. He’s not saying it because that’s what he thinks of me; Locke says it because he knows what it’s what I want.
Another moan of his name almost emerges out of my mouth. But then his lean fingers stop twisting the sensitive skin of my nipple, and find a new home in the expanse of my throat.
Grunting in my ear, he says, “Grab the headboard.”
I do as he says. My arms barely reach the wooden bars banging against his wall, but I stretch every part of me to make it work. My hands wrap themselves around the head board, and Locke pounds into me at a pace I think only he’s capable of. Hard and rough and reckless, but still caring enough to brace me against his chest.
“I’m going to give you everything you want, Rosie. I’m going to take care of you and worship you, and late at night when you need me to, I’m going to fuck you exactly how you want. How you deserve.”
My vision goes black, eyes rolling to the back of my head and conscious becoming a light-hearted reality where only the pleasure of this moment exists. Nothing else.
His hand leaves my hips and busies itself with pressing into my clit. Back and forth, in a motion that makes the rest of the world slip away and my climax find its way to the surface.
“And you’re going to come on my cock, just like you asked.”
He releases the grip on my throat, and the sensation of his hard cock fucking into me and the rush of air filling my lungs is too much. I shake and cry and scream while the intensity of my orgasm takes control.
Locke works me through it. Still slowly thrusting in and out of me, he mumbles in my ear how hot it is to seehis girlget what she needs, and the aftershocks of coming make me twitch against his body.
When I catch my breath, he pulls out. I feel so suddenly empty, and my mind cries for me to tell him not to remove himself from my body, but I physically can’t take another one.
I roll onto my back and reach my hand out, waiting for him to tell me what to do. How to bring him over the edge.
He doesn’t take my offer, though. Like always, Locke puts me first and gets off just on knowing I’m satisfied.
Furiously, he works his fist over his own cock, arm flexing and shoulders tense. The black-rimmed glasses that symbolize him are fogged up and crooked. I want him so bad, it aches. So does the physical exhaustion of four orgasms in one night.
Mindlessly, I spit out, “You should’ve come in me.”
The lump in his throat bobs and he throws his head back.
“Fuck.”
“You better do it next time.” He’s still staring at the ceiling when I grab his free hand and suck two fingers into my mouth. His breath catches, and I mumble around his fingers. “Come on my stomach tonight. Next time, I want you to fuck it deep into me. You can claim me as yours.”
I hear it before I see it. The shaky sounds, the broken grunts, the small whine that slips out right before he shoots cum across my stomach.
Locke learned my body and mind by asking. I learned his by watching. I don’t think anything turns him on more than giving me what I want and making me his.
After his chest rises and falls regularly, Locke places a soft kiss on my forehead and walks out of the room. For once, I don’t wonder why I’m left alone after sex. I know he’s coming back.
A few minutes later, he’s tenderly wiping me down with a warm cloth. He massages the most strained parts of me—the thighs he worked over his shoulders, arms that braced me against the headboard. None of his movements are sexual now. They’re light and caring, and the version of Locke I came to know first returns. Soft green eyes and quiet kisses of adoration.
I’m wrapped into the smooth cotton of one of his shirts and tucked back into his side when I huff out what’s been gnawing at me all night.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” I tilt my head to look at him. The confusion painted across his face makes me roll myeyes. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re supposed to be quiet. And shy!”
My hand slaps his chest, vibrating with laughter. “I am.”
