“Legs…wide,” he growled.
I spread as wide as I could.
“You submit.”
It was a question and an order.
“Yes,” I whispered, unable to say more, speak louder.
It was coming.
“You submit,” he repeated.
My legs tensed. My neck muscles strained. My eyes closed.
His fingers tightened around my wrists.
“Olivia, do you submit?”
I forced my eyes open half a centimeter.
But my lips moved on their own.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I submit.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, pounding deep, his lips now brushing mine.
It felt good. I kept taking it. I kept loving it.
But as I did that, most of my attention was taken by experiencing the colossal orgasm that had me so in its thrall, my entire body was tight as a bow, straining to experience it in its totality at the same time contain it so its ferocity didn’t send me flying apart.
On the way down, I was able to pull myself together to enjoy the final thrusts that led to the violent shudders of his climax, doing this feeling his growly sigh against the flesh of my neck.
His hands never released my wrists.
I wrapped my legs around his hips and felt his weight. His heat. I smelled his hair. Our sex. I felt his cock embedded in me like it was made to be there.
And I stared at the ceiling knowing I’d lost.
But all could not be lost.
I couldn’t endure it again.
And I wasn’t going to let another man endure it.
I allowed myself that moment of him pinning me to the bed, his body my whole world, my legs wrapped tight around his hips like it was my right to hold him to me.
Then he released a wrist.
I released his hips.
His head came up and his sated eyes caught mine.
“Unh-unh,” he muttered, not happy I let him go.
“I need to clean up,” I declared.
His head tipped slightly to the side. “You never clean up right after.”