Chapter 20 #2
He pulls his mouth away and I groan harshly, but he’s climbing up behind me and reaching a hand around to grab, to knead my breasts with hungry, uncontrolled movements. Then the wide, blunt crown of his cock is poised at my entrance, thank fucking God, and he’s feeding himself in, slowly.
And holy fuck, the sensation of him filling me up, inch by thick, glorious inch, is a revelation.
I sigh and whimper and claw at the bed in my impatience, bizarrely conscious of the majesty of this man behind me and somehow oblivious to anything but each tiny lick of stimulation, of friction my hungry nerve-endings are being served up.
Not that there’s anything tiny about my new master. He’s huge, and this angle is seriously deep, and as much as I need him inside me, I’m grateful he’s easing his way into my body slowly.
‘Ahh fuck,’ he hisses. ‘Fucking hell.’ He sinks his fingers hard into my hips as he bottoms out in me, holding me still as I adjust to the extraordinary fullness inside me.
I turn my head so my cheek is against the satin sheets, desperate to see with my own eyes how being buried balls-deep in me is affecting him.
There’s no perfect view from this angle, but the impression my peripheral vision serves me up is enough.
He’s straightened up, rising up behind me, tall and proud, the hard, sculpted lines of his body softly outlined in the dim light.
I get a sense of the stiff jut to his jaw.
He’s as close to losing the plot as I am.
I hope he’s savouring the juxtaposition of his lordly stance and my lowly, writhing one as he impales me on his cock.
He rolls his hips slowly, testing me, and I moan. I need him to give it to me hard. I really hope he doesn’t take it easy on—
Oh my God. Apparently satisfied by the insane snugness of our fit together, he pulls out practically the whole way before rutting back into me.
Hard. The power of his thrust slams the breath out of my lungs.
It’s primal, and elemental, and holy fucking Christ is it what I need. I groan, and it’s low and guttural.
‘Hold on tight,’ he grunts, and I scrabble at the satin sheets, which may be sexy but are anything but stable.
My cheek slides, my fingers flutter, and my pussy fills with fire as he repeats the move.
He sets a pace that’s slow enough for me to enjoy every luxuriantly punishing inch of his thrusts, and I crouch there, unable to do anything but brace myself the best I can while I take and take and take round after round of my huge, hot master railing his little slave girl into the bed.
Intensity radiates off him so powerfully it feels like anger. And perhaps it is. Perhaps he’s angry at me for tempting him, angry at himself for failing to withstand my allures.
Perhaps he’s punishing both of us equally.
But if it’s punishment, I’ll take every inch of what he has to give me because this white-hot fire he’s stoking inside of me is the rawest, most addictive thing I’ve felt in a long time.
He thrusts rhythmically, pulling so far out each time that his crown jabs me bluntly on the in-stroke, and the mantra I chant in my head as I hang on for dear life is fill me fill me fill me.
I’d be crushed against the headboard right now if it wasn’t for the tight grip on my hips that stops me shooting up the bed.
We’re wordless but not noiseless, our cries and grunts and moans escalating above the sensual beat of the music as his assault on my internal walls continues.
My orgasm is shimmering on the horizon, a beautiful thing that glows brighter and brighter as my body prepares to unspool, when he reaches around and pinches my clit, squeezing it hard as he drives into me again.
And I’m gone. Obliterated. Warmth becomes heat as pleasure floods my body, a thousand spectacular sunrises and sunsets explode behind my eyelids, and I’m sucked into a vortex of pure, wondrous sensation.
I cry out as the waves course over me, wringing me out and spinning me higher and higher as Zach continues to pump into me, his breath jagged and that glorious dick and those fingers spurring my orgasm on and on.
With a low shout of what sounds like surprised triumph he follows me over the edge, his thrusts growing jerky as he fills the condom inside me with the warm evidence of his pleasure. As my orgasm ebbs away, I grow more aware of the individual fragments making up this perfect picture.
The warmth of Zach’s skin against my bottom as he holds still inside me.
The beautiful, sated pulses of his cock against my inner walls.
His hand removing itself from my clit and brushing over my stomach, between my breasts, and back down.
The raggedness of his breathing behind me.
The peace. The fulsome, pervasive peace that fills my mind and my body. The kind of peace that, in my experience, only a thoroughly good fucking can deliver.
He releases my hip and runs a hand down my back in firm, full strokes before withdrawing his dick from my body.
I should say that withdrawal is my least favourite thing in the world.
Not only does it usually sting, if I’ve been fucked as thoroughly as I like to be, but it reminds me that my pussy’s default state is empty. Bereft.
I’m never self-conscious after sex, but through my post-orgasmic glow comes the realisation that I have no idea whether Zach will be weird or not. I mean, who the hell knows with that guy, right?
‘Give me a sec,’ he whispers softly before clambering off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. I turn my head to enjoy the supremely satisfying sight of his nakedness from behind, the broadness of his back and shoulders tapering down to a seriously pert arse.
Absolutely delicious.
I roll onto my back with my knees up, feet on the bed. I really hope he’s not done. I need more time with him like this, when he’s in character and apparently, given the performance he just gave, feeling safe enough to unleash himself.
On me.