12. Amal #3
My eyes fly open and I look at him in disbelief, watch him wipe the back of his hand over his mouth, my only consolation is that his breathing is as ragged as mine and his cock is a steel rod in his pants even if he is grinning like the cat who just ate the mouse.
Without a word, he turns me on my side and spanks my butt.
I gasp and he grins, looks down at my ass and does it again, holding onto one thigh to ensure I don’t get away as I wriggle beneath him.
“What the hell?” I gasp out between spanks.
He looks at me, that grin widening wickedly and flips me onto my stomach.
I turn my head to look back. He grips my hips and tugs them up.
Fingers dig into tender flesh as he splays me open and when he buries his face there, I push mine in the bed and try to stifle my own moan as Jethro Blackstone works his tongue and teeth over me, devouring me, tilting my hips higher.
He eats his fill, and I don’t even care what I look like anymore.
I don’t care about stifling my own moans as I push back into his face, desperate for orgasm.
This time, he doesn’t stop. And when I come, it’s an orgasm the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
It takes me under like a wave. A tsunami.
I lose my mind for what feels like an eternity and when it’s over, when he draws away, I am boneless and panting for breath, my vision blurred along the edges.
When he releases me, I turn onto my back to watch him slide off the bed, his lips and face glistening with me.
He doesn’t wipe it away this time. This time, he watches me watch him as he slides his pants and briefs off and I swear he’s even bigger than I remember.
Thicker. Harder. A vein throbbing angrily along the length of him. A drop of come on the very tip.
And all I want as I look at him, as I anticipate him inside me, is to be ripped in two by him.
When he climbs back onto the bed, I spread my legs wide for him. An invitation. His hands come to my hips, one sliding to the back of my head to grip a handful of hair and tug it backward to look down at me, to kiss me hard with his wet mouth.
I open for him, tasting myself on his lips, tasting his hunger as with his other hand he pushes my leg up to settle himself at my entrance. When I feel the hard length of him, panic washes over me and when I open my eyes, he’s watching me as if he expected exactly this.
“Little Virgin. I’m going to enjoy you,” he says darkly and dips his head down for another kiss. He licks my mouth before scraping his teeth over my lower lip and I feel my bonds coming undone, his hands rubbing where the silk bound my wrists.
He shifts one hand to the back of my head cupping my skull, fingers weaving into my hair but not cruelly. Not painfully.
When I feel him at my entrance, I grip his shoulders, readying myself.
“Jet I…” I start, then stop to lick my lips. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” he says, bringing his face closer, brushing the scruff of his jaw over my cheek, lips at my mouth.
“I’m not going to lie. It’s going to hurt.
But pleasure is better with a little pain,” he says, voice raspy as he licks the shell of my ear.
“And I’m going to make you feel so good.
So fucking good you will be screaming my name.
” He nudges my head back a little, kissing my mouth.
“Hold on to me, baby. And don’t look away.
Whatever you do, don’t look away from me, okay? ”
I nod and brace myself, digging my nails into his shoulders.
I feel him enter me, stretching me, my passage, even though slick with arousal, too tight.
He moans, moving slowly in and out, giving me time to adjust. It’s taking effort, I see it on his face, and I feel the moment he reaches my barrier.
“Breathe,” he says. “Breathe and give it to me. Give me your pain. Give me your everything, Little Virgin.” And then, just when I find myself relaxing, he pushes in and I hear my own cry which comes simultaneous to a moan from deep inside Jet’s chest. He draws back and pushes deeper, kissing me.
Virgin blood mixes with arousal to slicken the passage for him.
He moves slowly for a beat before that hand in my hair pulls a little harder and his thrusts go deeper, deeper, bringing us closer and closer to climax. To each other.
“Jet,” I pant, holding tight to him.
“You’re tight. So fucking tight,” he mutters. “I can’t go slow.” I feel his control slipping and as another orgasm builds, I wrap my legs tight around him, urging him deeper, wanting him closer still, pain and pleasure undistinguishable from one another.
“Amal,” he groans, giving in to his own need, thrusting hard enough to force my breath from me and when I fall over that precipice into an orgasm more powerful than the last, his cock hardens inside me and all around me every muscle tenses, his grip so tight it hurts and all I can think as I look into his eyes and watch him come undone is that I want more. More of this.
More of him.
I will never have enough of him.