“Oh.” The one word precedes my indrawn breath as he strokes the tight knot of nerves budded inside.
Eyes never leaving mine, he finds my breast with his other hand, palming, squeezing, kneading, collaborating with the steady, sensual rhythmic torture between my legs. His fingers don’t just thrust inside me. They search, seeking my pleasure and my secrets. Desire blossoms like a morning glory opening to the sun streaming through my bedroom window. In a matter of moments, I come, shameless, stretching my legs wide, pulling my knees high, wantonly wringing every ounce of gratification from the orgasm that I can, exposing myself completely to his touch and his sight.
“I want you,” I pant, snaring his eyes with mine as the wave recedes, ebbs. “Inside me.”
He’s discomposed. His breaths ragged, heaving his chest with deep rises and falls just from touching me until I came. Simply from watching. Want and need twist, turn, gleam feral in his stare. The hunger there is a beast, and I am its singular focus. I feel the exhilaration of being hunted, pursued. The promise of being caught and taken. His control hangs by a gossamer strand, and when I reach up to grab his cock, that control snaps.
He slides his thumb from my soaked folds to the tight, puckered hole below, lubricating me, preparing me.
“I want this.” He growls it. Grits it between his teeth.
I nod. It won’t be the first time he’s taken me that way. It’s always rough and rides the fine line of pain and bliss.
And I always beg for more.
Still standing on his knees, he stretches to the bedside table to grab the lube, and I take advantage of his preoccupation to lean up and take his cock into my mouth.
“Dammit, Ban.” He squeezes the small bottle in one fist and tangles the other in my hair falling forward, curtaining the work of my lips around him. The bottle falls to the bed, discarded and forgotten. Both his hands cup my head as he pushes himself deeper into my mouth, down my throat. I choke a little from the aggressive thrust.
“Breathe,” he commands, but doesn’t let up, doesn’t pull back. He never does. He knows I don’t want him to. I drop my jaw to accommodate the thickness, the raw thrust of his dick scraping inside my mouth and stretching the walls of my throat. He groans, drops his head back. Witnessing the abandoned pleasure on his face has me chasing my own high again. I slip my hands between my legs, stroking myself in sync with each of his powerful strokes.
“I don’t want to come like this,” he says, jerking out and leaning down to capture my jaw in one big hand. With his thumb, he rubs the faint trail of pre-cum into my swollen lips and then kisses me, sipping his own saltiness from my mouth.
“Lie back.”
I do. He grabs the lube again and drags me over the decadent cotton of our sheets to the edge of the bed. He stands at the foot, holding my stare while he anoints the tight hole with cool liquid. He pulls my legs straight up against his chest, stroking the sensitive skin inside my thigh.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
His jaw clenches, the muscle pushing against the tanned, golden-stubbled skin. He eases into my ass by centimeters. The wide head forces its way in, and my breath catches. This is always the hardest part, that first breach. The thick, welcome intrusion. The pinch of pressure is a forerunner for the unbearable pleasure of his cock caressing the network of nerves cloistered in my ass.
“Oh my God.” I swallow and arch my neck, begging the air for breath. He starts slow, watching my face for signs of pain, discomfort. He begins cautiously, but every stroke in and out whittles his care, his consideration.
Until the beast just wants to fuck.
He’s gripping my thighs to his chest and pounding into me with piston force. My body mourns even the millisecond he leaves to pull out and celebrates the fullness every time he slams back inside.
”Open it for me,” he says, his voice desperate and commanding.
I know what he wants and cup my butt in both hands, stretching, pulling the cheeks apart to make his way easier.
“Shit,” I gasp. It’s intense. The penetration so deep, I shatter inside with every thrust.
Taking control, he pauses only long enough to drop my legs from his chest and let them fall open, and pushes my knees up to my chest. He watches himself going in and out, biting his lip, gripping the inside of my thigh just below the knee. I know what’s next, and I don’t think I can take it.
His thumb revisits my pussy, gently at first, almost an apology for neglecting it, then his jaw hardens and he presses his palm flat over the open lips, passing his hand across my clit over and over. I involuntarily close my legs against the devastating pleasure.
“Stop. Open,” he orders abruptly, pressing my legs back wide and my knees back up. He strokes my clit and sinks his thumb into my pussy, all the while pounding into my ass. The orgasm rises from muscles coiled tight at the base of my spine and explodes over my back, a meteor shower raining down my legs, winnowing through my feet and toes. This feeling possesses me until I scream and thrash my head and grip the sheets.
“Dios. Dios,” I slur, spent, even as he maintains the vigorous pace. Sweat drips down the chiseled workmanship of his chest and abs. His damp hair curls.
How long has he been fucking me? I hope it never ends.
“God, I’m close,” he grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He pulls out and splashes a hot stream onto my ass and along the backs of my thighs, on my belly. His head flings back, proud and leonine, and then he looks at me, ownership in the gaze that takes in the creamy rivulets decorating my body.