18. Zara #2
“I liked your fingers in my asshole. I just don’t remember if…”
He tenses then relaxes before he says, “You welcomed my touch, and it was what made you come before you blacked out.”
Why is the thought of him taking me there making me so damn horny? We fucked for an entire day.
He brushes his knuckles over my nipples that peek out through the bubbles, betraying me.
“There’s nothing wrong with being sexual, having fantasies, wanting to test them. I want to give you everything you desire in and out of bed.”
I tilt my head toward him and smile, filled with deep gratitude. “I doubted whether I had made the right choice.”
“You don’t say.” He sounds offended, which only makes me smile harder.
I seek his eyes, reaching out my hand to trail a finger absentmindedly along the vein on his forearm.
“Can you blame me? I proposed it, thinking you would never go for it anyway, and then you kidnapped me. That month of waiting was the longest period because afterward it was marriage, children talk. Too much. Too soon. Too everything.”
He frowns, his voice laced with concern. “Am I overwhelming you?”
“Yes, but sex helps,” I say teasingly, only for a slap to connect with my pussy, making me bite into my lower lip. “Ouch.”
He scoots himself into the tub, leaning back as he brings my lower body above the water and spreads my thighs with his.
He doesn’t ask, he takes, making me burn hotter for him.
He runs his fingertips over my folds, finding me wet. Nothing new in his presence.
“I don’t want your pussy today.”
A current zaps through me, electrifying me. “What do you want then?” I breathe out even though I know exactly what he wants.
His teeth bite into my earlobe, grazing them over the sensitive skin. It should be illegal how this man knows everything that makes me a needy, hot mess.
He squirts a generous amount of gel on my pussy, and I follow entranced as he dips his fingers in the liquid then moves his hand lower, entering my asshole with his index finger.
I bury my head into his neck, sucking in a breath, not knowing if I want him to continue or stop.
“Such a good girl opening for me.” He says it in a daze, sounding hoarse before pushing another one inside.
It’s a snug fit, but I like the stretch, the bite of pain. I definitely had anal sex before. His throat vibrates with a low groan as he brings the third one in and I grip his arms, pleading with my eyes, not knowing for what exactly.
“I have you,” he says and removes his hand.
I know what will replace it, and I gulp.
“Whose are you?”
I suck in a breath, feeling him at my back, ready to enter me, but it’s like he needs my answer first.
The answer is simple, resounding. “Yours,” I say, wholeheartedly believing it.
He’s slick from the water, and with gel-like lube coating my ass, he enters me, so maddeningly slow, stretching me one inch after another.
A stuttered moan falls from my lips, a sound of sweet surrender as I let him conquer another part of me.
The stretch and the fullness lead to discomfort, but that is quickly forgotten. My head falls back against his chest as he pushes deeper inside me, tearing me apart in the best way possible.
I reach out to grip the edges of the tub to hold on for longer before I trip and fall into sweet euphoria. It’s always like this; he makes me lose my mind while he possesses my body.
A sound of satisfaction roars in his throat as he bottoms out inside of me. “Fuuuck, you feel so fucking good. One of these days I am going to lose my damn mind and forsake everything and just keep you in bed.”
That doesn’t sound bad at all.
When he’s inside me, I don’t know where he ends and I start, we just fuse, becoming an extension of each other.
“I need to see what I am fucking,” he groans, tone dipped in carnality.
Still lodged inside me, he pushes me forward so that I grip the tub with him plastered behind me.
“Fucking hell.” His hoarse voice, accompanied by him getting even bigger inside me, sends a shot of pleasure mixed with pride through me. He might be the one fucking me, but he’s fucked just as much.
I look at him over my shoulder, but he’s lost in his own pleasure as if my asshole is the treasure he finally found after searching for a lifetime. I guess I am not the only one who likes it.
Our eyes lock, and what I see reflected in his undoes me––pure adoration, endless wonder, undying love.
I want to look away. It’s too personal, too intimate. It’s life-altering, and there is nothing I can do. I’ve sealed my life. Strangely, it feels as though that happened a long time ago.
As if he notices I am slipping away, he grips my thighs and starts fucking me in long, hard thrusts. Skin slaps, moans and groans ringing like a decadent flesh symphony.
The pleasure is all-encompassing, my focus returning to the present and not the heartbreak.
Throwing his head back, he jabs his teeth into his fleshier, lower lip. “You like being ass-fucked just as much as I enjoy fucking this tight as fuck hole.”
A god unraveling, making me high on both the pleasure and the power. I can’t deny it. I don’t even want to deny it. “Which one would you choose?”
He cocks his head, smirking as he curls his hand around my hair, tugging my head back. “Who says anything about choosing? I’ll fuck both your holes and your mouth whenever I please.”
He’s so very dangerous to my heart and sanity, yet I embrace it fully as he fucks me in deep, powerful thrusts, causing the water to spill over the tub and splash on the floor just like my mind.
He shows me who is in control of my body––him.
Who owns my pleasure––him.
I am his.