Page 271 of The Wright Man

I giggled. Which turned out to be a mistake, because it made me clench around him, hard. Maleek cursed under his breath, forehead dropping to my shoulder.

"Baby, if I don't move, I might literally die."

I kissed his cheek. "Then move."

He didn't need more encouragement.

He started slow. Deep. Purposeful. Every thrust dragging against my walls with devastating precision. But the tempo changed fast. The room blurred as he took me against the wall—hard, relentless, real. Years of tension, longing, denial—all of it crashed into every stroke.

I was begging within minutes. Babbling. Sobbing. I didn't even know what I was saying, just that I needed him. Needed more. Maleek was filthy in my ear—growling, praising, commanding, saying shit no man had ever dared whisper to me.

I shattered around him, nails digging into his scalp, legs trembling as my first orgasm hit me like a train. But he wasn't done.

He carried me to the bed like I weighed nothing, laid me over the edge.

"Turn over. Hands and knees," he commanded. "And arch that back for me."

I obeyed immediately.

"Open it up for me." He growled. "I wanna see that pretty pussy swallow up this dick."

Goddamn, this man and his mouth.

I moaned, reached back and grabbed my ass, spreading myself open for him.

He slid back in with a rough grunt.

He bottomed out and paused, gripping my hips like they were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"So fucking tight..."

Then he pulled out halfway and slammed back in.

I screamed. Didn't care. Let the neighbors call somebody.

He did it again. And again. Each stroke deeper, harder, brutal and perfect. The room echoed with skin, moans, and curse words.

He wrapped a handful of my braids around one hand and pulled, forcing my head back so he could press a sloppy kiss to my lips.

"You're fuckin' mine. You understand me?"

I smiled, entirely too sweetly for a woman being slutted out the way I was.

"All yours. You know that."

And then he was gone. Full primal mode. One hand around my throat, the other pinning my arm behind my back, growling filth in my ear as he made me see stars.

He fucked me like he was trying to rewrite history. Like he was making up for every year he couldn't.

He talked shit. I talked back, grinding into him, daring him to break me. He met every challenge with filth and fire, until we were both right at the edge.

I felt that familiar pressure building low in my belly, but it was different. Hotter. Deeper. More. And he could feel it too.

I thought, briefly and completely, that I had been waiting for this specific weight, this specific warmth, this specific man, for my entire life — and that somehow my body had always known it.

"Let that shit out," he growled, giving my ass a hard smack. "Stop playing with me. Let me feel it."

I felt the dam burst in my core as I came. Hard. Almost violently. My legs shook as I felt hot wetness gush out of me, heard Maleek's hips hitting mine, the sound wet and loud.