he said, leaning down, his mouth claiming my nipple.
“I’d rather you did other things,” I told him.
He bit down hard, and I cried out, but rather than letting me pull away, he slid his hands down to the hollow of my back and made me arch against him. A growl ripped free, deep in his throat.
His black slacks and shirt felt rough against my bare skin, tiny prickles of awareness sparking everywhere it rubbed against me. Everywhere I wanted to be skin on skin, but instead, just like always, he was still clothed, while he’d stripped me bare.
It was a power play, and I knew it. He enjoyed being in control, enjoyed stripping me down and remaining in control. In sex and in our relationship, he always had the upper hand, always called the shots.
But right now, I didn’t care.
I wanted to surrender to him.
With a hand on my shoulder, he pushed me down, onto my knees. I didn’t have to ask what he wanted, I just reached for the button on his crisp black slacks, too shiny and perfect for a man so rough, so possessive. A fabric so fine somehow felt wrong on him.
His pants pooled around his feet, and his boxers soon followed.
He was hard and hot and pulsing, and as my hand found his shaft, he groaned. It sounded more animalistic than human, a roar that came from somewhere deep in his throat. His hands found the back of my head, tangled in my hair and pulled me toward him, so that his cock plunged deep in my throat.
He held me there for a long moment, my mouth full of him. I gripped his hips and sucked, hard.
He groaned again and released me, and I pulled back, raking in a steadying breath.
As my tongue swirled his tip, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the ground. I held him tightly in one hand, and then slid my lips down his shaft, my tongue sliding along, my hand pumping the same rhythm.
With my free hand, I slid up his thigh, until I found his balls, massaging them as I sucked harder.
“That feels so good,” he said, between gritted teeth, his words more like a hiss. I pulled back, one hand still on his shaft, and ran my tongue down his cock, until I reached his balls. As my tongue lapped against them, he groaned even louder, bucking his hips toward me. “Jesus,” He said. He moaned as I sucked on his balls, and then my tongue traced its way back up his shaft, swirling over the tip.
And then he kneeled in front of me, cupped my ass, and pulled me up on my knees, so that we were facing one another head on, our bodies pressed together as he kissed me, hard and fierce.
His fingers dug into my ass, gripping me hard.
“I need to take you,” he said, “But I won’t be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to be,” I replied, my voice coming in heavy rasps. I wanted him to take me hard and fast, rougher than he ever had before. Rougher and harder than that day against the front door, or as he shoved me down on the steps. I was on fire, desperate for release.
He didn’t ask again, just grabbed my hips in each hand and twisted me around, until my backside was pressed up against his front, and we were facing the same direction. He held my body against his, his cock resting in the crack of my ass, his hand gliding lower, finding my clit.
With his knees, he forced my legs apart. He bucked against me, his dick sliding against my ass as his fingers found my slit. “You’re wet for me,” he said, his breath hot against my neck. “Do you want me here?”
He pushed his finger inside me, and I gasped. I started to lean forward, but he held me tight, forcing me to remain upright as he pushed his finger deeper. I moaned, leaning against him allowing him better access.
“God you’re tight,” he said, pushing his finger deeper, shoving a second one inside me. “I want to bury myself so deep in you…” his voice trailed off, got gruff, but he didn’t let me go. Didn’t let me bend over so he could take me the way I’d said I wanted him.
“I want you,” I said. “God I want you.” I arched my back, shoving my ass hard up against him as his thumb slipped against my clit.
“What do you