“No,” she rasps again, teasing, daring.
I tug on her hair, forcing her to meet my gaze. “And why is that?”
She shoots me a mischievous stare. “Because you won’t ever come before me, and I’m trying to torture you.”
“Is that so? They warned me sex would change after marriage, but I had no idea this is what they meant.”
I smack her ass, and she jolts, clamping down around me. “Looks like someone likes a good smack.”
I do it again, and she pulses tight. I lean in, whispering against her ear, “Joke’s on you, sweetheart. You already came a few times, if I’m not mistaken. So, it’s my turn.”
I pull back to the tip and slam back in. The feel of her clamping down around me sends me right over the edge. The moment I groan that I’m coming in her ear, Esmerelda explodes around me like I’d hoped.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so damn good when you squeeze my cock.”
Her nails drag along the sofa, leaving marks in the fabric. The aftershocks take a while to fade, her pulsing keeping me hard inside her.
“You’re still hard.” It’s a statement, laced with surprise.
“That’s what you do to me.”
“H…how?”
I bend over and kiss her. “Let’s not waste it by questioning things. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”
“At this rate, I’m going to have to sit on a bag of peas.”
Stilling, I pull out of her, concern etching across my face. “Shit, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Darling, if you don’t want me to hurt you, I suggest you get back inside me.”
I bite my lip, still concerned.
She stands and faces me, hands cupping my jaw. “I want to feel you every time I move tomorrow and know that you claimed me as yours.”
“You are mine.”
“Good. Now show me.”
She pushes me onto the couch and straddles me, facing away. She swings her hips and settles on me, back to my chest, and gods, reverse cowgirl feels different. Deeper. The angle tilts just right, so every time she sinks down it drags hard along the underside of me, ripping a groan straight out of my chest. It’s tighter like this, like her body is trying to wring every last drop of control out of me.
I don’t set the pace. She does. She grinds, slow and steady, then snaps her hips faster, harder, chasing what she wants. All I can do is hold on, my hands gripping her hips, watching as her back arches, as her body moves for me and against me all at once.
“Fuck, Esme,” I rasp, my voice rough, breaking apart. “You look so good riding me.”
She lets out a greedy moan, and the sound claws straight through my chest. My head tips back, a curse spilling out.
“You’re killing me,” I groan, dragging my thumbs over the sharp curve of her hips. “Look at you—taking all of me. Fucking perfect.”
She leans forward, grinding deeper, harder, and the sight of her—her back flexing, hair spilling wild, ass bouncing against me—undoes me completely. I reach up, fist her hair, tug her head back so I can see her profile, the flush on her skin, the dazed look in her eyes.
“You want more?” My words come out raw, torn from somewhere deeper than breath. “Then take what you need from me.”
And gods, she does. Every thrust, every groan, every ounce of strength left in me, she takes. But even if she doesn’t I’d give it all to her. Because this position, this moment, isn’t just sex. It’s her claiming me, owning me, riding me into the ground until I’m nothing but hers.
And the brutal, beautiful truth?
I want it that way. Forever.
