So fucking hot.
“Yes,” I said and that one syllable came out sharing I’d take it right then if he had it.
He read it. Deacon could have dementia and still read me.
“Fill your ass, eat your pussy.”
“I’ll suck your cock,” I gasped.
“No, sweet Cassie. You’ll be tied down, won’t be able to move your head. You just hold it in your mouth.”
He was killing me.
I strained toward him, nearly coming undone when I couldn’t complete that action.
“Deacon, please.”
Even with his eyes hot and hungry, his lips smiled. “Had enough?”
“Yes,” I nearly shouted.
“Then prepare for me to ride you, baby.”
I was prepared. I couldn’t get more prepared. The only thing I was worried about was that the orgasm I was about to have would kill me.
He slid his finger out of my ass, his thumb away from my clit, and positioned.
Hand in the bed, arm straight, holding him above me, I felt him move the tip of his cock through my wet as I tried and failed to get more of him.
“Baby, please.”
He surged inside.
My back arched from the bed, my head digging in the pillows, all four limbs jerking against the ropes.
Then he fucked me, hard, rough, holding his body away from mine. I dipped my chin, saw his eyes on me, and whimpered.
He liked this. Fucking me barely touching me, just his cock driving deep and fast, watching me take his thrusts, my body jerking with each one, my ropes tight, making me immobile.
It could have been bad. It could have felt distant. Like being used. Like nothing but a wet pussy, a vessel to receive his seed.
It wasn’t that. Not with the way he was looking at me, taking in my face, his gaze roaming hot on my body.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he grunted.
“Harder,” I begged.
He slammed in harder.
I closed my eyes. “Yes.”
“Look at me.”
I opened my eyes.
“Watch me fuck you, baby, ’til you can’t watch anymore.”
“Okay.”