“Clutch my dick,” he ordered, still thrusting.
I tightened around him.
“That’s it, Cassie,” he groaned, wrapped his fingers around my hips and held my already stationary body more stationary as he drilled me.
I came first, crying out, my hands fisting, my toes curling, my body trembling.
Deacon moved to mounting me, curled around my body, hand in the bed, his other hand went between my legs, finger at my clit.
“Again,” he demanded.
“Okay,” I gasped, still coming.
He pressed and rolled and fucked me until I was making constant mews of pleasure I couldn’t even begin to stop.
“Oh God, fuck me, Deacon. Harder, baby.”
If I could have a coherent thought, I wouldn’t imagine he could do it.
He did.
I started keening.
“Red ass, bound fixed, hole oiled, takin’ my cock, best you ever had, Cassie?” he grunted.
“Best,” I moaned, “I ever,” I kept moaning. “Had.” I breathed then came, tensing so tight, I thought I would break apart.
Deacon lifted up, smacked my thigh again, and demanded raspingly, “Fuck yeah, Cassie, clutch my dick.”
I didn’t have to try; my pussy was doing it for me.
“Fuck,” he grunted, pounded deep, and then I heard his disjointed groan of release as he kept taking me.
I knew he was coming down when the thrusts gentled.
I knew he was done when he slid out.
I said nothing when I felt him leave the bed. Just stayed where I was because I had no choice, shivering happy shivers in the aftermath.
He came back and gently cleaned me with a warm cloth.
He left again.
I waited.
He returned and I felt his lips brush my ass and down my thigh. He bent low and kissed my sex. Then up on the other cheek of my ass.
I did the only thing I could do, stayed completely still and gloried in his tenderness.
I felt him position on his knees between my legs before I felt his hands roaming over my skin.
I sighed.
“You like this better than tied spread eagle?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” I answered quietly.
“Can you tell me why?”