It stings so good. He’s big, and it’s been too long, and I dig my nails into his shoulders and moan while my body stretches around him.
My vibrator doesn’t even come close.
“Fuck.” His forehead drops to mine. “Carla.”
“Move,” I tell him. “Take me hard. That was the deal.”
He does, in deep strokes that rock the whole table, that scoot it an inch across my floor and then another and another. My breasts bounce with every thrust, and his eyes lock onto them, and he swears under his breath and drives into me harder.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Fucking look at you.”
He feels so good inside me. Impossibly good. Thick and hot, hitting some deep place that has me babbling half-words and fragments of his name.
“I want to live inside you,” he grits out. “Right here. Forever. Fuck!”
“Then don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
He doesn’t. He shifts his angle, his thumb finds my clit, and that’s it. My orgasm slams into me, and I cry out, my back bowing off the table. My body pulses around him in wave after helpless wave while he keeps thrusting, working me through every last one of them until I’m limp and gasping and my ears are ringing.
And then I get to watch him.
His rhythm falters. His breathing goes ragged. His jaw goes slack, and his brows pull together like he’s in the sweetest kind of pain, and he crouches over me, hips jerking in short, deep, greedy pulses. His whole body shudders. He groans my name, long and broken, and the pleasure that moves across his face is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
He spills inside me, and I feel him, hot and deep, his hands gripping my hips. His eyes on mine.
He fucks me long and hard, finally slowing and then stopping.
“Your bedroom,” he gasps.
I point to the hallway.
Then he’s picking me up and carrying me, taking long strides.
52
Magma
Carla is riding the hell out of me, and I have never seen anything sexier in my life.
She’s moving in this slow, greedy rhythm that is going to be the death of me. Her head is tipped back. Her hair is a wreck from my hands. There’s a flush spreading down her throat and across her chest, and every time she rocks forward, she makes this small, choked sound that does things to me.
I can’t stop looking at her.
I don’t want to. I’m never going to want to.
She rolls her hips again, taking me deep, and my eyes almost cross. She’s hot and tight around me, gripping me like she was made for me, and every slow grind of her body pulls me closer to the edge. Her breasts sway with the movement, full and gorgeous, and I reach up and fill my hands with them because I cannot stop touching her. My female. She moans and pushes into my palms.
“Magma.” My name comes out of her on a gasp.
“Right here.” I stroke my thumbs over her. “Take what you need. I’m yours.”
She does. God help me, she does. She picks up the pace, riding me harder, and the sight of her is almost too much. Her lips parted. Her lashes fluttering. Her whole body moving over mine like a wave. The sounds we’re making fill her bedroom, skin and breath and the low groans I can’t hold back, and underneath it all, the soft creak of her bed working overtime.
My dragon is rumbling in my chest, pleased beyond words.Ours, he keeps saying.Ours, ours, ours.
I agree.
I grab her hips and start meeting her, thrusting up from below, matching her stroke for stroke. She cries out, and her nails bite into my chest, and the small sting of it only makes everything better. We find a rhythm together, deep and driving, and the pressure at the base of my spine builds fast. Too fast.
