16. Jhene #4
He grins as he reaches up and gives one of my breasts a squeeze. “Because I’ve been blessed with a big cock. The man upstairs knew I’d need it to please you. C’mere.”
His growl unlocks another layer of arousal inside me as his large hand grabs at my throat and he drags my mouth down to his. Somehow, his touch is dominant but not degrading—he’s not touching me in a way that’s meant to use me like others have in the past.
He’s simply a dominant alpha male who can’t keep his hands off the woman he desires. Who needs to kiss her deeply as she takes him deep.
Suddenly, our position has changed slightly. I’m still on top of him but now sprawled directly on him as he takes over the movements.
You’d think he’d be exhausted from his match against The Tank. Any normal human being would be.
Killian’s stamina and athleticism are unmatched. He leverages the power in his muscled legs and thighs and uses it to thrust up into me.
Filling me again and again as I moan and shudder and we kiss each other hotly.
Killian’s reaching the back of my pussy and still there’s more of his dick to take. I’m quaking in his arms as he finally rolls us over and slides back into me from yet another new angle.
I arch against him and cry out, “Too much! Oohhh, too damn much!”
“Yeah?” he pants, his breath warm against my skin. His hips thrust away, so smooth and skillful in his stroke it’s maddening. “You want me to stop?”
“NO!” I exclaim, and he chuckles. My hand claws down his muscled back, and I gyrate my hips in tune with his, so dazed I can barely think or speak. “More!” I demand. “Keep going! Fuck… fuck me, Killer!”
His stroke deepens. He swirls his hips and reaches brand new sensitive nerve endings. Shocks of pleasure shoot through me, and my mouth drops open as I realize it’s happening.
I’m finally going to orgasm from penetrative sex.
As many times as I’ve had it, I’ve never even come close. It’s something I never even wanted to achieve with Fedorov’s cold hands on me…
But as Killian strokes into me and our mouths fuse together in deep, passionate kisses, it finally happens.
It’s ten times as intense as the small blip of orgasms I’ve sometimes given myself.
My whole body locks up as pleasure erupts from within. From the tingles that radiate inside my pussy to the sharp shiver that rockets down my spine, the orgasm even reaches my toes.
I’m crying out like a madwoman as I clamp down on Killian’s dick and lose myself to the sheer euphoria that washes over me.
He’s picked up the pace, hiking my thigh up higher and drilling down into me. Chasing his own ending as his hips jerk and buck and he fills me to the hilt.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck and bites my shoulder as he finally lets go. Even with the condom, I feel the moment he comes. He’s thick and twitching inside me, and I moan, imagining what it would be like if he really had released in my pussy.
Watching Killian Rourke come down from his orgasm is a whole other experience altogether.
I’m amazed as the rigid muscles in his body quake and strain and he husks out ragged breaths as if our sex took more out of him than eight rounds with The Tank.
His normally ivory complexion is tinged a little red in some places, and it makes my heart soften inside my chest.
He’s not just sexy and fine, he’s cute in the simplest, smallest ways, like now. The dazed look on his normally scowly face and the way the tips of his ears glow red.
All small, endearing details that feel so strangely intimate. Like a secret shared between us, seeing each other this way.
I reach up, stroking his beard and guiding his mouth back to mine. He’s still inside me, and we lay like this for who knows how long.
I’ve never been someone who values physical touch; if anything, I’ve usually recoiled at it, other than when it comes to Eva and my mom. I’ve certainly never liked when men have touched me.
It has always been a frightening, sickening, dehumanizing experience.
Yet here I am, exhausted but content, lying sweaty and naked with a man I thought I’d never like. Let alone sleep with and enjoy myself.
Killian sweetly tucks a curl behind my ear and nuzzles his face to mine. “You good? You weren’t faking that orgasm, were you?”
The brightness of my laugh startles me. I slap at his shoulder and peer up at him fondly. “In case you couldn’t tell, it was very real, Killer. Turns out you know just how to please a girl.”
“Yeah, well… she’s worth it.”
He presses a kiss to my brow, and we settle into comfortable silence. A moment of peace and recovery that lasts us a while until we eventually get up to shower and clean up after ourselves.
My mood’s lighter than it’s been in so long, I can’t remember the last time I felt like this (if ever).
But even as we twist on the shower dial and bicker about who goes first and I find myself laughing again, the guilt is still there.
It’s still buried deep. So is the dread.
The depressing awareness that, however wonderful these moments between us are, they’ll only ever be temporary…