8. Lemon #3
It feels like it takes forever for my body to calm, my muscles twitching and shuddering long after the surge of emotion has settled inside of me. When I finally blink through the haze of sensation, tears are dripping from my eyes, and my body feels wrung out and limp.
At some point he must have pulled his fingers out of me, because his wet hands are spread out across my thighs, keeping my legs open. “I’ll be right back,” he says quietly, climbing out of the bed and heading for the bathroom.
My head feels too heavy for my body as I lie naked in his bed, the soft sheets beneath me rumpled and probably wet from my arousal. For a second, I wonder if there’s something wrong with me because I’ve never felt so detached from my body before. But if this is the way I die, I don’t think I care.
Atticus’s soft chuckle from across the room makes me turn my head to look for him. He’s naked, his dick hard, the head red and wet. Swallowing thickly, my mouth waters with the urge to taste him, but as I try to lift my arm, it falls back to the mattress, heavy and limp.
“Do you want my dick, Princess?” he asks, clearly amused as he fists his thick cock, sliding his grip up and down the length.
I nod. “Yes.”
Humming thoughtfully, his tongue pokes out and licks a wet path over his full lower lip. “I’m not done with you yet. You look so beautiful when you come. I think I need to see it again before I fuck you.”
“I can’t,” I rasp. “Fuck me, Atticus, please,” I beg. Never before in my albeit limited sexual experience have I ever wanted a dick as much as I do right now. My limbs are heavy and weak, but I know that I’ll come back to life the moment that thick, hard cock is inside of me.
“You’ll give me one more orgasm, Princess, then I’ll fuck you,” he purrs, his voice low and seductive.
“I can’t,” I say, rocking my head from side to side on the pillow.
“You will,” he says confidently as he climbs onto the bed and between my thighs.
“Atticus,” I try to say on a pout as he pushes two fingers into my body and lowers his head to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.
All words fade away.
All coherent thought fades away.
All control over my wayward, slutty body fades away as he sucks and licks and finger fucks my body into an orgasm that builds into a pressure-filled explosive that feels like I’m going to pee all over him.
His palms are wet when he lifts my legs, pushing my knees toward my face as the head of his dick finds my soaked entrance, and he impales me in one hard, deep thrust. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I yell when his cock is fully seated inside of me, my core stretched wide around him.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans as he pins my legs in place and slowly starts to grind his hips, fucking me in slow, shallow thrusts.
“Sir, Sir, Sir,” I chant as his dick feels like it’s hitting the back of my throat each time he pushes fully back into me.
I can see the desperation in his eyes as his irises glow in the dim moonlight. But he never loses control, filling me over and over again in measured thrusts that keep me on the edge but don’t let me tip over into another orgasm.
My nipples feel swollen and huge, my body sore and stretched, but I still want more, because the way Atticus touches me is different from anything I’ve experienced before.
He’s not chasing his own release. This isn’t a race to the finish line.
Each touch, each thrust has intent—to prolong the taunting pleasure for as long as possible until he decides it’s time for us both to come.
And it will be his decision. I won’t get to orgasm until he lets me, and he won’t come until he chooses to.
His controlled discipline should make me feel restrained, but instead, it’s the safest I’ve ever felt during sex.
Because even though this man was a stranger to me this morning, I trust him to take care of me.
I trust him to make sure I’m a sopping, crying, wrung-out mess by the time he decides to make me come.
I trust that his control will bring me nothing but pleasure.
Like he heard my thoughts, Atticus’s lips curl into a smile. “Who am I?” he demands.
“My Sir,” I tell him easily.
“I’m your Sir, and you’re my perfect princess. Now come for me, Princess. Let me hear you scream my name.”
At the sound of his permission, his hips roll a little deeper, his dick seems to grow, and the head hits a spot inside of me that makes me see stars.
I come so hard I think I pass out for a moment.
When I open my eyes, his lips are twisted into a hard line, and he’s fucking me in rough, deep slams that trigger a new wave of pleasure as he thrusts into me like I’m his to use as he pleases.
When he comes, his face becomes almost as ethereal as one of his brother’s angels.
Only Atticus isn’t broken or seeking redemption.
This man is an avenging warrior, a prince to my princess.
I feel his release flood me. I feel the heat of him filling me, and instead of panic, I feel a sense of otherworldly euphoria, because Atticus says I’m his, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to belong to him.