37. Mia
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mia
We're still curled together on the couch when his mouth finds mine again.
This kiss is different. It feels hungrier.
His hand slides down my side, over my hip, and then he's cupping my breast, squeezing it hard. I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I arch into him, desperate for more. “George—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I know.” His hand drops lower, gripping my waist and pulling me so tight against him I can feel his heartbeat.
His kiss is absolutely filthy. His tongue dominates mine, taking what he wants, and heat is pooling between my thighs.
I can feel myself getting wet. My thighs press together involuntarily.
And of course, he notices.
His hand slides down and he grips my thigh, spreading my legs open with his knee. The pressure is right there, and his muscular thigh is pressing against me through my underwear. I'm practically vibrating.
“Oh fuck,” I breathe.
He grins against my mouth. “That's it,” he says, his voice rough. “Take what you need.”
I don't think twice. I'm moving against him, my hips rolling, grinding down on his tight, feeling the friction through the thin fabric of my underwear. It feels incredible, and I'm so close already. His mouth moves to my neck, and he's sucking hard enough to leave marks.
He pulls the shirt up, exposing me, and takes my nipple into his mouth. Sucking. Biting. I cry out, hips rolling faster against his thigh.
I can feel him getting hard beneath me. His cock pressing against my hips through his sweats. The knowledge that I'm doing this to him, that he wants me this badly, makes everything hotter.
“George,” I gasp. “I need—”
“I know what you need.”
I don't even have time to process what's happening before his hands are clamping down on my hips. Gripping them hard, and then he's moving me. Throwing me so hard, I land on my hands and knees on the couch, breath knocked out of me.
“Stay like that,” he commands.
His voice is completely different now. Dark and rough. A version of George I've never heard or seen before. This is a side of him I didn't know existed.
I feel his hands on my thighs, and he's spreading them wider, positioning me exactly how he wants me. I'm so exposed, utterly vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
God, I love it.
I hear him move behind me, feel his hands hook into my underwear. He pulls them down slowly. Until they're around my knees, then gone completely. The air hits my wet skin, and I shiver.
“Fuck, Mia, look at you,” he breathes. “So wet already.”
I'm on the edge of losing my mind, waiting, trembling, my whole body aching for him. And when he gets closer, I feel it. He spits—directly on me. The sensation is shocking, filthy, obscene, and I cry out, my hips jerking backward toward him involuntarily, desperate for more contact.
“Oh, you liked that?” His voice is rough now, but with certain amusement to it. “You like it when I spit on your pussy?”
I can't speak, so I just nod frantically.
“Use your words, Mia.”
“Yes,” I manage. “Fuck—yes, I like it. Please do it again.”
He spits on me again, harder this time. I watch over my shoulder as the warm liquid hits, dripping down, and I'm moaning uncontrollably, completely losing myself.
“That’s it. Now you are all wet, messy, and dripping for me,” he says as his fingers slide through the wetness, spreading it everywhere, making everything slicker.
One thick finger circles my entrance, teasing me, and then he pushes inside.
I moan, my forehead dropping to the couch cushion as my whole body clenches around him.
“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now, sweetheart,” he mutters, like he's in awe. “You look so—fuck.”
He adds another finger, stretching me open, and I'm pushing back against his hand, desperate for more. I’m clenching around his fingers, trying to pull him deeper.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please, what?”
“Please, I—I need you inside. Please.” I hear the rustle of fabric as he shoves his sweats down, and then I feel it.
His cock pressed against my entrance. He's so hard, so thick, and absolutely perfect.
He pushes forward slowly, and I feel every single inch as he fills me.
The stretch is intense, almost overwhelming, and has me gasping.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, fingers digging into the couch.
He doesn't stop until he's completely buried inside me. Then he stills, giving me a second to adjust. “You okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“Yes. Move. Please move.”
He pulls back, and then he's slamming forward. Hard, deep, absolutely filling me, and I'm crying out so loud I think the neighbors can hear me. The sound is everything, all the wetness, the slapping… My body is rocking forward with each thrust.
“Fuck,” I moan. “George—”
He sets an absolutely brutal pace. It’s deep, rough, primal. Exactly what I didn't know I was desperate for. No one has ever fucked me like this before. One hand grips my hip, the other slides up my back, shoving my t-shirt higher, until it’s gone, exposing me.
I'm completely naked now, completely on display, and I've never felt more wanted, more claimed, more his.
Then his hand tangles in my hair, and he grips hard, pulling. My head jerks back, and suddenly my back is pressed against his chest. The angle shifts completely, and he's even deeper inside me—impossibly deep—and I'm screaming.
“Oh fuck, George,” I cry out.
His mouth finds my neck, and he’s sucking hard, his teeth scraping my skin. His other hand wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he continues thrusting. I can barely breathe. Can barely form a thought.
There's only the feeling of him buried deep inside me, his mouth devouring my neck, his hand pulling my hair. He yanks harder, forcing my head back until I can see his face.
His eyes are wild, dark, completely feral and undone.
His tongue invades my mouth, and I taste myself on his lips, his tongue, a reminder of how much he wants me.
Then he pulls back just slightly, his breathing heavy, and he spits.
He spits directly into my mouth. I swear I don’t know if this is hotter than before, but I do know that this man is using me as he pleases, and I can’t get enough.
Without thinking, without hesitation, and without a shred of shame, I swallow it.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You're fucking perfect, Mia.”
His hips snap forward harder, faster…
“You feel so tight around me,” he says against my ear. “So wet.” That does it. Something inside me breaks. I’m moaning uncontrollably now, pushing back to meet every brutal thrust, and clenching around him.
“George,” I gasp. “I'm—I'm gonna come. Fuck—”
“Give it to me,” he says immediately. “Don't hold back, sweetheart. Come all over me. I want to feel you.”
His hand slides down and his fingers find my clit, circling it hard, fast, rough, and I completely shatter. The orgasm tears through me. I scream his name so loud it echoes, my body convulsing around him. He holds me through it, still thrusting, drawing it out until I'm shaking uncontrollably.
“That's it, Mia,” he murmurs.
When I finally come down, completely destroyed, my arms give out, and I collapse onto the couch, utterly boneless and thoroughly fucked. But George doesn't stop. He follows me down, his weight settling on top of me.
The pace changes to something slower, but also deeper.
His mouth finds my shoulder, and he kisses it softly, tenderly, then moves to my neck. The contrast between this gentleness and the savagery from moments ago makes something crack open in my chest.
“Mia,” he breathes against my skin. “I'm about to come. I'm so fucking close.”
“George, please don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please, I want all of it.”
He groans, hips stuttering. “Are you sure? I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t want just because it feels good right now. I—”
“George. Yes, I want it. I want you. I want all of you inside me, please.” He groans, and his hips snap forward three more times, and then he stills completely, buried deep inside me. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth as he fills me.
“Fuck, Mia,” he gasps against my shoulder. He collapses carefully, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades, his breathing ragged. For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just lay there, connected, bonded.
Eventually, he pulls out slowly, and I whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness.
“Stay there,” he says softly. I hear him moving around, then the sound of water running. He returns with a warm, wet towel. His touch is gentle now. Careful.
He cleans me up with such tenderness that tears prick my eyes. “You okay?” he asks quietly. I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me sit up, then hands me his t-shirt. I put it on, and he kisses my forehead.
“You want some tea?” he offers.
I laugh. “You just fucked me senseless and now you're offering me tea?”
He grins. “What can I say? I'm a gentleman.”
“You're something, that’s for sure,” I say, smiling.
He pulls me close, and I curl into his side. “Stay here with me.” He says again. Not a question this time, a statement, a promise.
“I'm not going anywhere,” I whisper.
And I mean it.
There’s no way in hell I’m leaving this man.