21. Chapter Twenty-One #3
Shamelessly I began to buck back against him. It wasn’t fair that he was still clothed and I was naked. It wasn’t right that he wasn’t inside me yet. “Ursa, please. Please. Sheathe me.”
Those wanton words ought to have made me wither in embarrassment, but we were beyond that now.
I knew we were in the washroom, not the privacy of our quarters.
I knew anyone could walk in at any moment.
I knew I was always the one pushing him away, telling him we mustn’t.
Suddenly it didn’t matter. The need was too strong, too pulsing, too all-consuming.
I needed his cock inside of me more than I’d ever needed anything before.
“Claim me,” I begged him breathlessly. “Make me yours, Ursa.”
As might well be imagined, Ursa did not need even that amount of urging; his only delay came in trying to retain his hold on my hair while simultaneously undressing.
Finally, with a frustrated growl, he released me.
I heard the ominous tearing of fabric behind me as he grew impatient with his zipper.
I turned to face him, not waiting for him to fully finish undressing before I pressed my front to his front, reveling in the feeling of his skin against mine. Gripping his shoulder, I hoisted myself upward as best I could.
Alas, upper arm strength has never been my strong suit.
Luckily Ursa followed my cue and gripped me by my ass, pulling me upward so my legs could wrap around his torso.
I could see on his expression he didn’t entirely understand what I was doing.
Our intimate positions thus far had been, I’m sure, rather limited by what he’d seen in the wild.
Wouldn’t it be fun to take him by surprise for a change?
Gripping his shoulders tightly, I maneuvered my lower body until my entrance loomed over the head of his cock.
A thrill shot through me as I saw the moment of recognition in his eyes of what was about to happen, the moment before I slid down onto him.
Ursa groaned out his pleasure as he began to fill me.
I watched the microexpressions play out across his face, the surprise and the curiosity, both ultimately overpowered by heady need.
It was thrilling, this kind of sensual power.
Here was this big, powerful man, and he was entirely under my thrall.
At my angle, though, I wasn’t fully seated, and I needed him inside of me, as deep as he could go. “Ursa,” I implored him.
Understanding, he backed me up against the wall and used one leg to prop me there in place. By silent, mutual agreement, we worked together, both of us clutching and grasping and undulating our bodies until at last he was fully sheathed inside me.
I gasped at the sensation, not entirely new to me now, but new at this angle. Ursa groaned—a deep, uninhibited sound that echoed and reverberated through the empty washroom, and which would leave very little doubt as to what we were doing, if anyone was close enough to hear it.
Then Ursa began to move, thrusting up into me at a breakneck pace that made me instinctively cling to him.
There was no need for that, really; he grasped my hips so tightly there was no chance of me falling over despite his punishing pace, though I might very well have some new bruises come the morning.
I didn’t care. To my astonishment, the pain somehow increased the pleasure, and with that increased pleasure came an almost wild abandon to seek more, more, to milk out every sensation for as long as I could.
During our previous encounters, I’d often ceded power to Ursa, letting him take charge. But I found this time I did not want to be a passive participant. His wild, urgent thrusting was a force of nature I could not control.
Instead I wrapped my legs more tightly around him, securing him to me.
I dug my nails into the skin of his neck, dragged them down his back.
I clenched my inner walls around his cock when he was inside me, and released my own gasps and moans of pleasure with an abandon I’d never fully allowed myself.
No shame. No denial. No hiding from my own desires. I was his and he was mine, and we were made to enjoy each other.
When the slow-building pleasure-pain inside of me finally exploded into pure bliss, I cried out, my nails digging a shallow path down his shoulders. Mine.
He followed closely after me, his own release a roar as he emptied out inside of me, filling me with his essence. Mine.
1. That honor would likely go to Trini’s table, but only when I was present for the stately affairs that she hosted on behalf of Sven, her politician husband.
When it was just the two of us, we were far more likely to be camped out in front of a holo, watching bad galaxy-net reality vids and eating takeout.
2. I hope it goes without saying that this was their terminology, not mine.
3. Again, not my terminology.
4. Odious, odious man.
5. Sorry to say, but my hair does not come down in loose, flowing tresses after it’s been braided and pinned all day long.
6. No one could ever say Minerva Eloise Smithe-Canfield isn’t a fast learner!