His grip tightens.
“That’s it. Now scream it while I ruin what’s left of you.”
And then he slams in.
So brutally thrusting that it knocks the air out of me.
My scream is trapped behind the gag, and my nails dig into my palms from the shock of it.
“Fuck,” he snarls into my hair, hips already snapping. “So tight I can feel you choking on me.”
His hands bruise my hips, his body covering mine like a cage.
Then he grabs my hair, twists it around his fist, and pulls it roughly, yanking my head back.
“Fuck, you’re such a fucking masterpiece. Tied up, drooling around my wrap, taking every inch like a good little cum-dump.”
I moan louder.
I hate it.
I love it.
I want more.
His other hand snakes around, his fingers rubbing my clit in rough, furious circles.
“Hold it,” he says against my ear. “You’ll come when I tell you.”
This was my choice.
A choice I gave up the second I asked to see this side of him.
And I love it.
God help me, I fucking love it.
He slams into me harder, rhythm breaking apart. I feel him losing control, that edge of madness flooding his voice as he growls, curses, whispers filth between gritted teeth.
“Please,” I pant.
“Please what, Isabella?”
“I can’t—I can’t hold back.”
“Then let go, like a good fucking girl.”
My orgasm builds so easily and effortlessly. The scream rips from my throat, swallowed by the fabric shoved between my teeth.
I’m shaking, grinding like an animal in heat on his soaked hand. I can’t fucking stop.
I don’t want soft.
I want more.
More.
More.
