Chapter Thirteen. Eshe #3
With a hungry moan, I bob my head up and down, swallowing him over and over, taking him farther and farther each time. He tastes so fucking good. Like fresh, wild, windswept rain and earthen musk.
There’s so fucking much of him. Fisting the bottom half of his steely length with both hands, I twist and pump, my lips bumping my fingers.
Spit runs down my chin, his flesh, my stroking hands.
If I made a mess before, now I’m sloppy.
He doesn’t seem to care. No, if that curl of his mouth and the almost-incandescent light in his eyes are anything to go by, he loves it.
And when I back off him, dip my head, and suck one ball and then the other into my mouth, letting my tongue tease that sensitive strip of flesh right behind them, by the sound of the loud, rumbling growl in his chest and the tautening of his powerful thighs, he might propose to my ass.
“Fuck.” He releases my hair only to slide his fingers into the curls at my temples and pull the strands back, baring my face for his hot gaze. “You a nasty li’l bitch, aren’t you?”
My answer is to suck on his cockhead, free it with a soft pop, and then spit saliva and cum on his dick. As I swallow him back down, he releases a sound that might be a rusty, serrated chuckle or a hoarse swear. Maybe both.
“Goddamn. Yeah, you are. Give me more of that shit.”
Holding my head steady, he thrusts his hips back and forth, fucking my face with no mercy, seemingly with all his power.
And dropping my hands to his hips again, I take it.
My eyes water, my nose runs, and I don’t care.
Just as long as he continues to pummel my throat with that gorgeous, thick cock.
Lifting my head, I suck in a breath and fist him again, coating my fingers in us.
Meeting his gaze, I lick my lips, savoring the potent, decadent flavor of his precum.
His eyes narrow as he traces my lips with a fingertip, then pinches my damp chin and tugs my mouth open.
Wider. I don’t wait for him to press his dick back into me; I lean forward, parting my lips, and greedily take him in.
As he glides over my tongue, I slide a wet finger behind his balls, over that smooth path of skin between them and his ass.
I stroke it, and when Malachi stiffens, I keep gently touching him, waiting on him to tell me to stop—or not.
When his hold on my head tightens and he resumes fucking my mouth, I have my answer.
I explore further until I find a softer spot and give it a firmer caress.
“Goddamn. Eshe,” he growls. His flesh throbs in my mouth, swells bigger, nearly filling my mouth beyond capacity.
Humming, I don’t let up, not even when his thighs lock and the pull on my hair edges toward pain. His thrusts speed up, and I’m damn near choking on the dick. Low, gravelly rumbles steadily pour from him, and I want more. I want him to break for me.
I press against that soft spot one more time, then thrust that wet finger into his ass, unerringly finding his prostate. On another hum, I rub and massage the fleshy area.
“Fuck!” he roars, his head thrown back on his shoulders.
His big body shakes, and seconds later, cum blasts the back of my throat.
I gulp it down, not missing one drop. Not that I have a choice.
His grip on me doesn’t ease, pinning me in place.
Not that I’m going anywhere. I’m right where I want to be—on my knees, mouth open, throat penetrated, belly full of his seed.
Slipping my finger free of his ass, I lick the last of his cum from his still-hard dick.
Before I can stand, he wrenches me to my feet, rips my sports bra over my head, and hikes me into his arms. I cling to him, wrapped around him like a wet shirt, ankles locked at the small of his back.
In three long strides, we’re in the shower, and with a rough twist of the knobs, he makes hot water rain down on us.
Still in his black pants, Malachi presses me to the far wall, his broad back taking most of the pounding of the water.
I’m captivated by the feral gleam in his eyes as it mirrors the scream in my blood, in my head.
My nails claw at his shoulders, and I almost don’t recognize the ragged, uncontrolled sounds emerging from my throat.
I’m arching and twisting against his huge body, against his stunningly hard dick.
God, he just came minutes earlier, and now he’s as heavy, as full as if he’d never poured down my throat.
“Malachi, fuck me,” I demand. Beg. I’m past the point of caring about pride. Just as long as that dick gets inside me.
“Say it again.” He cups my ass, spreading the cheeks until there’s a pinch across the hole there. I whimper at the dark, delicious pain. “Say it again,” he growls against my lips.
I don’t need to ask what part of that he needs me to reiterate. He might not accept or believe it, but I’ve known for two years: He’s mine. I know him. And I know what he needs.
“Malachi.” I cup his face with one hand and circle his neck with the other. “Malachi. Fuck me so hard, I feel you in my chest.”
Burying his face in the crook of my neck, he thrusts inside.
My breath propels from my lungs, lost in the steam rising around us in the glass shower walls.
A scream lodges in my throat as I bow against him, my breasts pressing to his chest. On reflex, my fingers tighten around his throat, and my nails dig into his cheek.
Pleasure, exquisite pleasure, races through me in electrical currents, and I’m captive to it.
I blink against the shower water as it pelts my upturned face.
“The fuck.” He withdraws, triggering a cascade of shivers inside me. I groan as the length and width of him stretches and brands my pussy even as he pulls free. “Why’re you so fucking wet, little queen? Goddamn.”
On a tortured groan, he slams back inside me. The tile rubs against my shoulder blades, his thrusts carrying me up and down the wall. With another hard stroke, he tears another scream from me—and an orgasm. Just like that. It barrels through me, and I’m helpless, swept up in its power.
“Shit. It’s like that?” He fucks me through the release, and as soon as I stop trembling, he takes me to the shower floor, flipping me to all fours.
The tile is unforgiving on my palms and knees.
Steam rises around us like a cloak, and I can barely see the bottom of the sliding door.
It’s like being enshrouded in our own private world of heat, water, and sex.
Covering my smaller body with his, chest pressed to my spine, Malachi sinks his teeth into my shoulder and buries his dick back inside my still-spasming pussy. “Baby, the way you take me. The way you fucking. Take. All of. Me.”
His voice, so rough, so hoarse, it coasts over my skin, another sensory caress on top of all the others.
Water pools around my splayed fingers and knees.
The musky scent of sex mates with the sharper smells of pine soap.
The blunt pain of the bite combined with the power of his possession as he tunnels back and forth, back and forth, hitting my spot over and over, has me writhing on the dick, both running from it and throwing my ass back into his every thrust.
Even my body is going crazy in lust.
“C’mere.” He curls a hand around the front of my neck and straightens, pulling me up with him so my back hits his chest. Cupping my chin, he turns my head toward him, and he claims my mouth, kissing me like a dying man.
“You can’t take this good pussy from me, Eshe.
Not ever. Promise me.” He crushes his lips to mine, draws hard on the bottom one.
“Promise me, goddammit,” he demands in that same serrated, desperate voice as he pounds me.
“I promise, Malachi.” Yanking free of his hold, I fall back on my hands and glance over my shoulder at him. “Fuck your good pussy.”
His big hand cuffs the nape of my neck, and with an animalistic roar, he beats my sex up.
I again throw it back on him, meeting every stroke, every thrust, and when that hard palm comes across my ass with a sharp slap just as his dick hits that place high inside me, I seize again.
My pussy locks down on his cock, and I go rigid, coming all over him with a scream.
“Fuck. Goddamn, fuck,” he growls.
Both of his hands grab my hips, and he rides me with short, powerful lunges through my milking walls.
Then, with a low, muted roar, he orgasms, the hot bursts of cum coating my sex.
He falls over me, chest plastered to my back, his breath harsh and heavy in my ear.
I close my eyes, savoring the smell of him, the sound of him, the feel of him.
He’s mine.
Malachi Bowden is mine.
And I have to let him go.