Page 103 of The Summer We Lie

His command, combined with a particularly deep thrust, shatters me. I come with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure wash over me. The intensity of it steals my breath, leaving me trembling and boneless on his car.

He follows me over the edge with a deep groan, his hips jerking against mine as he empties himself inside me. For a moment, we're frozen like that, connected in the most intimate way, both struggling to catch our breath.

Without warning, he scoops me into his arms. I wrap my legs around him instinctively as he carries me into the house.

"We're not done yet," he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing my pulse point. "I promised you something, remember?"

My body, still sensitive from my orgasm, shivers with anticipation as he carries me upstairs to his bedroom. The night has only just begun.

His bedroom feels like entering his private world—all clean lines and expensive materials, dark wood and crisp white linens that speak of wealth and control. The space smells like him, that intoxicating mix of cedar and something uniquely masculine that makes my pulse quicken. He carries me to the massive bed that dominates the room, laying me down on the soft sheets, his eyes never leaving mine as he drinks in every inch of my exposed skin.

"On your knees, baby. I want to see what you wore for me," he says, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that makes my stomach flutter with anticipation.

Heat floods my cheeks as I roll over and position myself the way he wants, arching my back instinctively to give him the view I know he's craving. The black plug feels foreign and thrilling nestled between my cheeks, a reminder of how thoroughly he's been preparing me for this moment. I feel completely exposed like this, vulnerable in a way that should terrify me but instead makes me feel powerful. The way his breath catches, the reverent sound he makes deep in his throat—it tells me everything I need to know about how much he wants this, wants me.

"Fuck," he groans, and I can hear him moving closer before his large hand cups my ass, squeezing possessively. His thumb traces the edge where the plug meets my skin, the gentle pressure making me gasp. "Did it hurt when you put this in?"

"Only a little," I admit, glancing back at him over my shoulder. But his eyes are completely focused on my ass, pupils blown wide with desire as he stares at the toy like it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen. The intensity of his gaze makes my skin burn.

"Stay exactly like that," he commands, finally meeting my eyes with a look that promises consequences if I disobey. The dominant edge in his voice sends a thrill straight to my core. Part of me wants to test him, to see what kind of punishment those dark eyes are promising, but a bigger part of me craves his approval more than anything else. I love the way he looks at me when I'm good for him, the way his praise makes me feel like I could do anything.

I watch him walk to his dresser with that predatory grace of his, every movement deliberate and controlled. He retrieves a bottle of lube and the vibrating wand from the top drawer making my pulse race. When he returns to the bed, setting his supplies within easy reach, I feel like prey waiting for a very skilled predator.

Then his lips are on my skin, soft and warm as he kisses a path across my ass. Each press of his mouth sends sparks through my nervous system, and when his tongue joins the exploration, I can't hold back a soft moan. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach, before his teeth graze my flesh and then bite down just hard enough to make me cry out.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs against my skin, his voice muffled as he continues his assault with lips and tongue, trailing upward along my spine. Then his hand is tangling in my hair, fingers threading through the strands before he uses his grip to pull me up slowly, never breaking contact as his mouth follows the path of my vertebrae.

When my back is flush against his chest, I can feel every ridge of muscle, every inch of heated skin pressed against me. He's like a furnace behind me, all controlled power and barely restrained desire. His lips find my shoulder first, then the sensitive spot where my neck meets my ear, making me shiver against him.

But then he's pulling back slightly, and I feel his fingers combing through my hair with surprising gentleness. He begins braiding the long strands with practiced ease, his touch sending tingles across my scalp that seem to connect directly to every nerve ending in my body. There's something so intimate about this, more personal than anything sexual we've done. The careful way he weaves my hair, the concentration I can feel radiating from him—it makes my chest tight with emotions I'm not ready to name.

He secures the end with a hair tie that he must have grabbed from the drawer, and then I feel him settling against my back again, his chest warm and solid behind me. The braid hangs over my shoulder, and I realize he's created the perfect handle for later.

"I've been waiting so long to fuck this perfect ass," he says, his voice rough with need as his fingers find the base of the plug. He twists it slightly, just enough to make my breath hitch and my body clench around the intrusion. "Thinking about it, dreaming about how tight you'll be around my cock."

"Mmm," I moan, pressing back against him instinctively, craving more of his touch, more of everything he's offering.

"Are you ready for me?" he asks, and there's something almost vulnerable in the question beneath all that dominant confidence. "Ready for my cock in your ass?"

"Please, Dominic," I breathe, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything. "I want to feel you. All of you."

He groans like I'm killing him, and then I hear the pop of the lube bottle opening. I can't see what he's doing, but I imagine him coating himself, getting ready to claim this final part of me that no one else has ever touched. The anticipation is almost unbearable.

When he starts to remove the plug, the sensation makes me gasp. There's a strange emptiness as it slides free, but then I feel the cool touch of lube as he works it into my body with careful fingers. He's thorough, patient, making sure I'm ready for what's coming.

"Tell me your safe word," he demands, his voice so low it seems to vibrate through my bones.

"Cherry," I whisper, pressing back against his exploring finger, silently begging for more.

"Good girl," he praises, and those two words turn my insides to liquid heat. Then I feel the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and my breath catches in my throat.

He goes achingly slow, giving my body time to adjust to his size. There's discomfort, a stretching sensation that borders on too much, but the weeks of preparation he's put me through—the gradually larger plugs, the patient training—it all pays off now. My body accepts him inch by careful inch.

"You're doing so good for me," he says, and I can hear the strain in his voice, the effort it's taking him to maintain control. His hips move in tiny increments, never rushing, always checking. "You okay, baby?" His lips brush my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

I reach back with one arm, threading my fingers through his hair and holding him to me. "More," I moan, surprising myself with how much I want this, how right it feels despite the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuck," he growls, and I feel his hand cup my breast, fingers finding my nipple and squeezing as he continues his slow invasion. The dual sensations make me hiss involuntarily as the pressure builds.