Sianni Mcwashington-Maddox #3
I rode him harder, faster, losing myself in the rhythm. In the feeling of him inside me. In the way he watched me like I was the only thing that mattered.
“Kyrie… I'm—” I gasped, my voice breaking.
“I know,” he said, his voice strained. “Let it go.”
And when I shifted the angle just slightly—when I felt him hit that spot deep inside me—I broke.
My whole body seized. My mouth fell open. My vision blurred.
I came so hard I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but feel.
And through it all, Kyrie kept moving. Kept guiding my hips. Kept working me through it until I was shaking and gasping and collapsing forward onto his chest.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
But he wasn't done.
His arm—his good arm—wrapped around my back, locking me against him. Not gentle. Not careful. Just tight enough to let me know I wasn't going anywhere.
“Kyrie—” I started, but the word barely made it out before he shifted beneath me.
And then he started moving.
Thrusting up into me. Hard.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands flew to his chest, trying to brace myself, but it didn't matter. He had me. His grip kept me exactly where he wanted me, and all I could do was take it.
“Fuck—” I gasped, my voice breaking.
He didn't slow down. Didn't ease up. He kept going, pounding into me with a tempo that made my whole body shake.
“Stay right there,” he growled, his voice harsh and strained. His hands sank into my back, holding me in place. “Don't move.”
I couldn't even if I wanted to.
Every thrust hit deeper than the last. Harder. More deliberate. Like he was putting everything he had into it—all that frustration, all that pent-up energy he'd been holding back since the shooting.
My body was still trembling from my last orgasm, oversensitive and raw, but he didn't care. He kept going. Kept taking what he needed.
“Kyrie—” I whimpered, my nails digging into his chest.
“I know,” he groaned, his jaw tight. “Just—fuck—”
His breathing was ragged now. Heavy. And I could feel the way his body worked, the way he favored his right side, the way his left shoulder stayed tense and still against the bed. But none of that stopped him.
If anything, it made him go harder.
His hand slid up from my back, rough and deliberate, until it found my breast. He palmed it first—squeezed it—then his thumb brushed my nipple.
My breath hitched. And then he pinched it. Not soft. Not careful. Just enough to make me gasp and arch into him.
“Fuck…” I whimpered, my whole body jerking.
“Yeah,” he groaned, his voice low and satisfied. “That's what I thought.”
He didn't let go. He kept his grip on my nipple, rolling it between his fingers while he thrust up into me, matching every movement with another wave of sensation that made my head spin.
It was too much. The way he was pounding into me. The way his hand worked my breast and the way he watched me fall apart and didn't let up for a second.
Like he had something to prove. Like he needed this just as much as I did.
“Fuck, Sianni—” he groaned, his voice breaking. His grip on me tightened, and I felt him shift his angle just slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur.
“Oh, my God—” I gasped, my whole body jerking again.
“That's it,” he growled. “Feel that shit.”
And I did. I felt every single thrust. Every shift. Every second of him losing himself inside me.
The bed creaked beneath us. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. And all I could do was hold on while he took over completely.
His pace quickened. His breathing turned harsher. And I felt the way his body started to tense and the way his movements became more erratic, more desperate.
“Fuck….” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. “I'm—”
He didn't finish the sentence.
His whole body went rigid beneath me. His arm locked around me even tighter, pulling me down onto him as he thrust up one last time, deep, hard, unrelenting.
And then I felt it.
The way he pulsed inside me. The way his breathing stopped for a second before coming out in a harsh, shuddering exhale. The way his grip on me finally loosened, just slightly, as his body gave in.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible.
I stayed there, collapsed against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded beneath my palms. I felt the way his body trembled just slightly as he came down.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
We just stayed there. Breathing. Trembling. Holding onto each other.
And then, slowly, I lifted my head and looked at him.
His eyes were closed. His jaw was tight. And when I looked closer, I noticed that his left shoulder was tense. His breathing was just a little too controlled.
“Kyrie,” I said softly. “Are you okay?”
He opened his eyes and looked at me. And despite everything, despite the pain I knew he had to be feeling, he smirked.
“I'm good, ma,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied. “More than good.”
I shook my head, but I couldn't help the small smile that pulled at my lips.
“You're crazy,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, his hand sliding up to cup my face. “But you love it.”
And he wasn’t lying. I did. Kyrie had turned my whole damn world upside down.