She was crying, writhing against his mouth, impaled upon his tongue. If he would just thrust it inside her a little harder, a little faster—if he would just lick that one spot just a little more, just a little deeper.
“Ah yes, baby. Sweet Diane.” He pulled back despite her cry.
She felt poised, so close.
Just a little more sensation.
His c**k pressed at the opening, heated and engorged as Lawe began to move against her, his hips thrusting, working the stiff, poker-hot shaft of his c**k inside her by slow degrees, an inch at a time, throwing her into such a maelstrom of sensation that she felt battered by it.
The fingers of one hand massaged, pressed. A tip invaded the untouched entrance of her rear, sending additional pleasure to tear at her senses. Slick from the gel, heated and dominant he pressed one finger inside her, working against the clench of tissue there to stretch the overly tight channel. Just when she thought she could explode in ecstasy from the surge of pleasures, his finger pulled back, his c**k pushed inside her pu**y with a hard thrust, then his finger returned, this time with another.
Two fingers worked inside her.
His hips moved against her, pressing, plunging his c**k inside her as his fingers slowly, easily began to f**k her ass.
“Lawe, please,” she cried out hoarsely.
“Please what, Diane?” He groaned behind her. “Please f**k your ass with my fingers? Please stop? Please show you you’re f**king mine?”
He pulled back, his c**k escaping the grip her pu**y had on him, only to return seconds later, only this time, to the sensitive entrance tingling from the stretching his fingers had given it.
“Please,” she cried out again. “Oh God, Lawe, anything.” Her hips rotated, pressed back against the flared crest of his c**k as fire and ice seemed to consume her from head to toe.
Pleasure and pain.
Lawe pressed against the entrance, the slick gel he had worked into her anus and the additional coating he’d spread over his c**k aiding the entrance.
Stretching, burning her.
Agony and ecstasy erupted inside her, blazing up her spine to tear through her senses as each inward press buried him deeper inside her rear and unleashed yet more of that intensity of emotion.
She felt too feminine now.
Her hips worked back. She could feel every shift of his flesh, every throb through the thickened blood vessels covering the shaft, every pulse of the engorged crest. She felt it with such depth, sensations magnified as he retreated, returned, opened her ass further, stretched her, submitted her.
Her back arched, a cry tore from her throat, and as his c**k surged those last inches inside her rear she felt his fingers bury into her vagina from below.
She was possessed. She was taken.
She belonged.
She belonged to him so completely, so utterly, that her body had accepted a possession Diane knew she would have never allowed another man to take.
A possession that sank inside her soul, outstretched fingers of emotional bonds sinking past objection and denial to find a hold she knew he would never release.
He was growling behind her. They were animalistic snarls, groans that were part human and part lion. His head lowered and he hurriedly brushed her hair aside with his chin as his head tilted and his teeth were suddenly locking onto the back of her neck as his hips began moving.
His fingers thrust inside her, f**king her with the same hungry desperation he used as he f**ked her ass. In and out, one then the other, shuttling inside her body and tearing aside a veil she hadn’t known hid her woman’s heart from him.
It wasn’t hid any longer.
It was his.
It was her voice crying out for him.
Begging.
“Oh yes,” she whimpered as the pad of his palm raked her clit. “Yes, please. Oh God, Lawe, f**k me.” She sobbed. “Take me. Please, please take me.”