My moan is trapped by the muzzle.
He flicks over my clit again, then again, and again, slowly relaxing my body, luring my muscles into accepting his touch—his invasion.
Conflicting feelings ignite in me. Rage in my belly. An ache, a hunger.
My lashes lower—and I stare at him with unflinching hatred.
His eyes fling up to mine.
Our stares hook.
Thumb brushing over my clit, he pushes in a bit more. Then more. Filling me.
And as much as he tries to fight it back, all his muscles tightening against it, a groan flexes through him.
That does something to me.
The sweet fucking sound of it surges through me, flips my insides, and that flame in my belly suddenly blazes.
I feel the wetness increase. Slipping over him.
Still, he holds my gaze.
He pushes in, deeper, further, pushing against the tension of my walls, more and more, until he’s all the way—
And a soft whine is tugged out of me.
His eyes flash.
One hand still working on my clit, slow and steady strokes, side to side, he glides his other along my neck.
His grip isn’t tight. He just holds my neck loosely, fingers flexing, as he slips out of me—but only halfway before he slams back in.
A grunt chokes out of me, guttural and muffled.
The darkness in his eyes deepens, pupils dilating like spilled ink.
He holds my gaze, hooked through every flex of his hips, every thrust in and out of my wetness, every grunt that’s shoved out of me—and he gains momentum.
Something unravels in him.
A savageness that rumbles his chest with a growl.
His hand abandons my clit, grabs onto my hip, and he brings me down to meet his thrusts.
The muzzle swallows my cry.
Grip flexing on my neck, he yanks me flush against him. The pressure of his thumb pushes into the underside of my chin, forces my head back until our faces are aligned.
Noses touching, his cold harsh breaths brush over my parted lips and the fabric gagging me.
He fucks me.
Gazes locked, his breaths harsh and guttural, he slams into me with a desperate, jutting rhythm.
I watch him.
Stare up at him.
