Chapter Twenty-One #2
“I want all of your pleasure, Reyna. It belongs to me now. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
“These are mine.” He fondled her breast as he bit down on the other exposed nipple.
He didn’t release her until her legs were locked around his back and her body was shaking.
“All of this is mine.” Then he kissed his way across to the space between her breasts and down, down, down slowly to her navel.
His tongue dipped into her belly button.
“This is mine,” he growled, slipping under her body, taking her ass in his hands. He lifted her lower half up off the bed and pressed her core into his face. He dragged his nose up her soaked underwear, drawing in a deep breath. “This pussy is all mine.”
“Yes. Dear God, fucking yes.”
He tore the thin material off her body and buried his face in between her legs.
His tongue teased her clit while his hands forced her legs wider apart.
He slicked a finger through the wetness already coating her opening and inserted it into her.
She was already so primed, he was able to push a second finger into her.
It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She was already on the verge of orgasm, and she wanted to feel his cock pulsing inside of her while she let loose.
“Beckham, fuck me. Just fuck me,” she said, trying to sit up to pull him toward her.
But he had other plans. He used one arm to weigh down the top of her body. “Put your hands over your head and don’t move them until I tell you.”
She lay back down with her hands over her head.
Thinking about keeping them there was a lesson in control.
She wanted to bury her hands in his hair as he coaxed her clit into submission until her body was vibrating with an ache she was dying to unleash.
He curled his fingers inside of her, moving them at a slower tempo than his tongue.
Suddenly, as both sensations hit her with the force of a moving vehicle, stars exploded in her vision.
Her body convulsed, sending a shock wave from her middle all the way to her fingers and toes.
She heard a loud noise and realized as she came back to reality that it was coming from her. She had come so hard she didn’t even know what sounds her own body was making.
Beckham released her. She felt like a puddle lying on the bed. Her limbs were jelly, and her brain wasn’t functioning.
“You moved your hands,” he observed with a sly smile on his face.
“I have hands?”
He laughed. She wanted to find a way to make all his sounds her everyday reality. That sigh, that grunt, that laugh. Oh, she would die happy for one more laugh.
“You have hands,” he assured her. “And I would like you to get on them.”
“On my hands?” she asked, her brain slow to process.
“Hands and knees.”
He flipped her over, and then she adjusted her body to the position with her ass in the air, her hands on the comforter, her hair fanning out in front of her face. Beckham nudged her knees farther apart.
“That better?” she asked, swiveling her hips in place as she looked at him over her shoulder.
His eyes were on her exposed lower half. They drifted up to her face, and he smiled. A heart-wrenching smile that knocked the breath right out of her.
Her Beckham. Hers.
That smile. Hers.
She wasn’t just his. Every inch of her heart, body, and soul didn’t just belong to this man—every single part of him belonged to her, too.
She watched as he palmed his cock and settled it between her legs. The head pressed against her, and her body clenched. It didn’t matter that she’d had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of her life. Her body was greedy. It wanted more, more, more.
“Brace yourself,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back.
Then he thrust forward in one rough movement, seating himself inside of her.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned.
So full. So fucking full.
She’d forgotten. Everything. Just everything. How amazing he felt. How big he was. How completely he filled her.
His hands gripped her hips, slicing past pleasure into pain and then mixing all together.
If there weren’t bruises in the morning, she would be shocked.
She didn’t care. Couldn’t even find enough mental capacity to care.
Because she wanted this—all that he had to give.
The pain, the pleasure, the intensity. Nothing would ever feel as good as Beckham with his cock buried in her.
Then he moved and proved her wrong.
He pulled out of her and then sheathed himself once more. One more slow pull, like a drag on a cigarette before the blissful exhale, as he crashed back into her. He rocked her entire body forward, and the bed creaked with the force of it.
She’d be lucky if she could walk tomorrow. Or maybe she’d be lucky if she couldn’t…
He didn’t slow his pace. He drove into her over and over again. Not taking his time, just connecting with her until she was face-first in the comforter, her hands gripping it in tight fists, body shaking with the need for a second release.
“So…close,” he got out through gritted teeth.
With another thrust, he buried himself in her and then reached down to pull her up. He pressed her back against his chest, holding her tight to him as a finger swirled around her clit. She lay her head on his shoulder, unable to move as he thrust into her.
His fangs dragged across her exposed neck.
If he bit her now, she would completely lose it.
She could sense the tension in him between wanting to take what was his and how close he already was to release.
She still let him take complete control.
Bite or no bite. This was the best fuck of her life.
Beckham was the best anything in her life.
He leaned forward, and she expected the bite.
Anticipated it. And then he kissed her as he stroked her clit more vigorously.
She exploded a second time, and Beckham followed, holding her pressed against him as he came hard and fast deep within her.
Only when they had both finished did he release her to fall forward onto her hands.
Her breathing was ragged as he gently pulled out and she fell into a heap on the bed.
Her eyes drifted to where he was standing, an arm braced against the wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
He was magnificent. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never find anything better than post-orgasm Beckham.
“Becks,” she whispered, holding a hand out to him. When he was fully back in control, he crossed the room and crawled into bed beside her.
“This is how I always wanted that night to go,” he confided against the shell of her ear. “What I imagined would have happened if I hadn’t lost control.”
“This is perfect.”
He kissed her ear and lapsed into silence. She lay there, her eyelids drooping. She didn’t want this night to be over. She didn’t want to wake up and find that it had just been another miraculous dream. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop the exhaustion from hitting her.