Chapter 26 #2
"Very well," I say, my voice dropping.
Before she can process the words, I dive back in.
This isn't a slow, deliberate exploration.
This is a full-on assault.
My tongue works her clit in fast, hard circles, my lips sucking, my teeth grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to feel good. I slide two fingers inside her and pump them in and out, fast and hard, mimicking the brutal rhythm I'll use later with my cock.
She gasps, her body bowing off the bed, a silent scream caught in her throat, as all the sensations hit her at once.
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, a desperate, hungry grip that pulls me deeper. I find that spot inside her with the tips of my fingers, the one that makes women see stars.
I crook my fingers, stroking, massaging, as I suck her clit, my tongue working in a relentless rhythm designed to shatter her.
Her moans become a high, desperate keening as her entire body tenses.
"Please, please, please," she chants, a desperate, broken mantra.
When I don't answer, they turn to shouts.
"Please, Sir! Please, please!" she screams, her hands fisting the sheets so hard I'm surprised they don't rip.
Her release is barreling down on her, a freight train of pleasure she can't stop, can't control.
She's trying to hold back.
She's trying so hard to be good.
Her body is a battlefield, a war between her desperate need for release and her desperate need to please me.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Her entire body is vibrating, a live wire of desperate, frantic energy.
"Just a little longer," I growl against her. "Hold off."
I can feel her fighting it, her entire body trembling with the effort of holding back the wave that threatens to crash over her.
At the last second, I make a decision.
As her orgasm is barreling down on her, I jerk my cock and ready it.
As she starts to go over, I pull my fingers out and replace them with the head of my cock, pushing inside her in one hard, deep thrust.
She's so wet, so ready, that I slide in easily, her walls clenching around me, a desperate, hungry grip that pulls me deeper.
I press my newly-freed fingers to her clit and continue my assault, but slower now. Just enough to keep her on the razor's edge as I pound my cock deep inside her.
"Look at me," I command.
Her eyes, wide and dazed with pleasure, fly to mine.
"Beg me again," I growl, my hips pulling back, then slamming into her again. "Make me believe you need it."
A sob tears from her throat.
"Please, Sir," she cries, my name a ragged, desperate plea that tears right through me. "Please let me come."
"Who do you belong to?" I ask, my hips picking up the pace, driving into her, my cock hitting a spot inside her that makes her toes curl, and her eyes roll back.
"You," she cries. "I belong to you."
"Then come," I command, my voice a low, guttural growl that's all raw heat. "Now."
The word is a key, unlocking the cage she's been trapped in.
Her body bows off the bed, a perfect arch, as the orgasm rips through her violently. A scream rips from her throat, so loud, so raw, it's almost feral.
Her walls clamp down on me, a series of hard, rhythmic clenching that milks my cock, pulling me deeper, her body desperate for more.
"Fuck!" I roar, and slam my hips home, pinning her to the bed as I follow her over the edge, my own release tearing through me, a hot, blinding wave of pleasure so intense it steals the air from my lungs.
I come deep inside her, marking her, claiming her, my body shuddering with the force of it.
She’s still coming, her body convulsing beneath me, a series of long, drawn-out aftershocks that leave her trembling, her hands fisting in the sheets.
I collapse on top of her, my body a heavy, sated weight that presses her into the mattress. My face is buried in the crook of her neck, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I can feel hers beating against mine, a frantic, fluttery rhythm that seems like it'll never slow.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths and the soft, distant hum of the early-morning birds outside the window.
We're a tangled mess of limbs, a sticky, sweaty, sated heap of satisfaction.
I can feel the wetness from her coating my thighs, and I know I overflowed in her because I can feel that too.
But I can't bring myself to give a fuck.
It's proof. A claim. A brand.
A wave of something raw and primitive surges through me, a dark, possessive satisfaction that's both terrifying and exhilarating.
She's mine. And not just in bed.
The thought hits me with the force of a physical blow. Not just her body, but all of her. Her fire, her fight, her vulnerability. I want it all. I want to be the one to break her. And the one to put her back together.
The thought is so intense, so unexpected, that for a moment, it scares the hell out of me.
Or it should anyway.
I'm not a man who does permanence.
I'm not a man who does feelings.
I'm a man who takes what he wants and leaves when he's done.
But with her... with her, I don't want to leave.
I want to stay.
I want to wake up next to her in the morning, to see her sleepy, soft, and vulnerable, to know that she's mine.
I wait for the panic to come, as I lie there, still buried in her.
It doesn't.
There's just a quiet certainty, a deep, abiding peace that settles over me, as warm and comforting as a well-worn blanket.
I don't even question why I don't question it.
As far as I'm concerned, that's just the way it is now.
And if Erica doesn't agree... Well, I'll just have to bend her to my will there, too.
Satisfied with the solution, I move onto the next dilemma.
How the hell am I going to get off her?
She stirs beneath me, a soft, sleepy sigh, and I know I have to move.
I’m not a small man, and she’s a very small woman.
Bracing myself on my forearms, I pull out of her slowly, to some protest.
A long, lazy groan escapes her, as I finally stir enough to roll off her, but I don't let her go. I pull her with me, settling her against my side.
She doesn't object at all.
Mostly because she's physically incapable of it.
She's pliant, boneless, a beautiful, sated creature who's completely, utterly molded to my side. Her head rests on my chest, her arm draped over my stomach, her leg tangled with mine.
I feel her soft, even breaths against my skin, and I know she's close to drifting off.
"Not yet," I murmur huskily.
"Mmmm," she hums in sleepy protest, snuggling deeper into my embrace. "Tired."
"I know," I say, my fingers stroking her hair. "But we need to get you cleaned up."
She makes a soft, grumbling sound, a little growl of protest that's more adorable than intimidating. "Don't wanna."
The corner of my mouth lifts in a smile. She's like a kitten, all soft and sleepy and a little bit grumpy when her nap is disturbed.
"Too bad," I say, my voice firm but gentle. "You're not going to sleep covered in me."
One of her eyes opens and pins me with a coy look.
"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that? Maybe I like being covered in Sir." The word is a soft, sleepy purr.
I can't help but chuckle. My innocent virgin is a quick study.
Troublemaker.
"Nice try," I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "But when it comes to your care and well-being, I'm in charge. And I say we're getting cleaned up."
I test out my strength by lifting an arm off the bed and letting it drop.
"As soon as I can find the muscles in my body again," I add, still pretty much dead weight.
"Found them," she murmurs, as she snuggles into my side. "Very nice."
I chuckle again, the sound a deep, contented rumble in my chest.
I like this.
I like the easy banter, the sleepy intimacy, the feeling of her curled up against me, warm and soft and trusting.
It feels... right.
I don't know how long we lie there, a tangle of limbs in the dark and quiet room, in the very early hours of the morning.
I'm not in a hurry.
For the first time in my life, I'm not thinking about what's next, not planning my exit strategy, not calculating the risk.
I'm just here.
With her.
And it's enough.
More than enough.