Chapter 8 — Anna #2
He's not tentative about it. Uses his tongue with precision, finds my clit and circles it while his hands grip my ass to hold me steady. I'm already so worked up it takes less than a minute before I'm shaking.
"Cain—"
"Come on my tongue," he says against me. "Want to taste you."
Two fingers slide inside me while his mouth works my clit and I shatter. Grab his shoulders to stay upright while I come harder than I've come in years.
He works me through it, doesn't stop until I'm pushing weakly at his head because it's too much.
He stands, and his mouth is wet, his eyes absolutely black with want.
"Get on the bed."
My legs are shaky but I climb onto the mattress.
He strips his shirt off and I finally get my hands on him. Chest, shoulders, the defined lines of his stomach. Scars I want to ask about later. Muscle and heat under my palms.
I go for his belt but he catches my hands again. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because you're going to come at least one more time before I'm inside you."
"That's very presumptuous."
"We'll see."
He pushes me back onto the bed, follows me down, settles between my thighs. His mouth finds my breast again while his hand slides between my legs.
I'm still sensitive from the first orgasm but he's relentless. Two fingers inside me, thumb circling my clit, building the pressure methodically.
"I can't—"
"You can." His mouth moves to my other breast. "You're going to come on my fingers and then I'm going to fuck you exactly how we both want."
The combination of his fingers and his mouth and his voice pushes me over again. I come gasping his name, clenching around his fingers.
When I come back to myself he's pulling his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean while watching my face.
"You taste incredible," he says.
"Stop talking and get your pants off."
He grins again, that flash of something easier under the control. Stands up and strips off his jeans and boxer briefs in one motion.
His cock is thick and hard and I want it so badly my mouth goes dry.
I reach for him but he catches my wrist. "Not this time. This time I'm in control."
"Arrogant."
"Accurate." He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Look at me."
I meet his eyes.
"You want this?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Say it clearer."
"I want you inside me right now or I'm finishing this myself."
That breaks something in him. He pushes inside, slow and deliberate, letting me feel every inch as he fills me.
He's thick. The stretch burns in the best way, pleasure and pain mixed together until I can't tell the difference.
When he finally bottoms out we both freeze, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
"You feel—" He stops. Tries again. "You're so tight I can barely think."
"Then don't think. Move."
"Give me a second or this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
I tighten around him, testing. His hips jerk in response and a rough sound tears from his throat.
"You're trying to kill me," he says, voice strained.
"Then move." I squeeze again, watching his jaw clench. "Or I'll keep doing that."
He pulls back and slams in hard enough I cry out. Does it again. And again. Finding a rhythm that makes my spine arch, makes sounds tear from my throat I can't control. Hard and fast and deep and exactly what I've been needing since he kissed me three days ago.
I wrap my legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. He shifts the angle and suddenly he's hitting something inside me that makes my fingers claw at his back.
"There," I gasp. "Right there, don't you dare stop—"
"Wasn't planning on it." His voice is rough, wrecked.
One hand grips my hip hard enough I'll have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow and I want them, want proof this happened.
His other hand braces beside my head, muscles in his arm flexing with each thrust. "Christ, Anna.
You feel so fucking good. So tight. So perfect. "
He's hitting that spot with every thrust now, relentless, and I'm climbing toward something bigger than the first two orgasms. My body is wound so tight I might shatter.
"Mine," he says against my throat, and the possessiveness in his voice does something to me I don't want to examine. "Say it."
"I can't—I can't think—"
"You don't need to think." His rhythm doesn't falter, doesn't slow. "Just feel. Just take it."
I'm so close. Right on the edge. Need something more, something I can't name.
His hand slides between us. Finds my clit. The first touch makes me jolt.
"One more," he says, mouth at my ear. "Give me one more and then I'll let you breathe."
"I can't, it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb works my clit in circles that match his thrusts and I'm trembling, shaking, right there. "Come on my cock, Anna. Want to feel you fall apart."
The combination of his voice and his thumb and the angle and the rhythm breaks something in me.
I come screaming his name, my whole body seizing, clenching around him hard enough it almost hurts. The orgasm rips through me in waves, endless, devastating.
He groans and thrusts three more times, chasing his own release. Buries himself deep and comes, and I feel the heat of him filling me, feel him shuddering against me while he empties himself inside.
We stay like that for long seconds, both breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling.
He's still inside me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Should be too heavy. Isn't. I run my hands down his back, feeling muscle and heat and the dampness of exertion.
"You okay?" he asks eventually, voice rough.
"If you ask me that one more time I'm kicking you out."
"Can't kick me out." His breath is warm against my neck. "You can barely move."
He's right. I'm boneless, wrung out, completely satisfied in a way I've never been before.
"Give me two minutes," he says against my neck, "and we're going again."
"Two minutes? You're forty, not twenty."
"Want to test that theory?"
I can already feel him getting hard again inside me. "Apparently I do."
He pulls out and I make an involuntary sound of loss. He grins, rolls onto his back, pulls me on top of him.
"Your turn," he says. "Take what you want."
I straddle him, still sensitive but already wanting more. Position myself and sink down onto him slowly.
The angle is different like this. Deeper. We both groan.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Yes. Ride me."
I start moving, finding my rhythm.
His hands come to my hips, guiding but not controlling. Then they move up to my breasts, playing with my nipples. Down to my waist, my stomach, my thighs. Touching everywhere like he can't decide what he wants most.
"You look incredible like this," he says, voice wrecked. "Taking what you want. Using me for it. So fucking perfect."
I lean forward, change the angle slightly, brace my hands on his chest. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into me and I gasp.
"That's it," he says. "Take it. Take everything."
I'm getting close again, didn't think it was possible but the angle combined with his hands on me is building the pressure fast.
He slides one hand between us, finds my clit.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I mean it." His fingers work my clit while I ride him and I'm so close I can barely breathe. "Come for me, Anna."
I do. Crying out, clenching around him, nails digging into his chest.
Before I've recovered he sits up, wraps his arms around me, flips us so I'm on my back again.
"My turn," he says.
He pulls out and I'm about to protest when he flips me onto my stomach, pulls my hips up.
"On your knees."
I comply and then he's inside me from behind. This angle is deeper, more intense, and I cry out as he fills me completely.
"Too much?" he asks, voice strained.
"Don't stop."
He doesn't. Sets a punishing pace, hands gripping my hips hard enough I'll have bruises tomorrow. I don't care. Want them. Want the reminder.
"You have any idea how long I've wanted this?" His voice is rough. "How many times I've thought about having you exactly like this?"
I can't form words. Can only make sounds.
One hand slides around to my clit and I'm already so oversensitive I almost can't take it.
"Too much," I manage.
"Not too much." His fingers keep working. "One more. You're going to give me one more."
"I can't—"
"Yes you can." The combination of his pace and his fingers and his voice is devastating. "Come for me one more time and then I'm done. Promise."
The promise pushes me over. I come screaming into the pillow, clenching around him so hard it almost hurts.
He follows immediately, groaning my name, collapsing over my back.
We stay like that for long seconds, both breathing like we've been running. Eventually he pulls out, rolls us to our sides, pulls me back against his chest.
I'm completely spent. Can't move, can barely think, body satisfied in a way I've never experienced.
"I meant what I said," he says eventually. "About keeping promises. About you mattering."
"I know."
"You believe me?"
"I'm choosing to." I turn my head enough to see his face. "But I meant what I said too. One more broken promise and this is over."
"Won't happen."
"It better not."
His arm tightens around me. We fall asleep like that, tangled together, sweat still cooling on our skin.