Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,91
ass right to the edge of the bed. The cool air brushed against my bruised and swollen cunt, then he pushed back in with a firm thrust, and I came apart.
The cries left my throat sore as I bucked and twisted to the brutal rhythm he set, and at the same time, I fought to match it, even in this wildly vulnerable position.
“More,” I begged. What was it about him that reduced me to begging every single time? I didn’t have to ask more than once. He released my legs and straightened. When he pulled out of me, I wanted to whimper at the loss.
The angry flush to his cock just made it all that much more attractive as it glistened.
“Turn over,” he ordered, and I all but scrambled to flip over onto my hands and knees. “This foot forward.”
The challenge of sliding my right leg forward until my foot was parallel with my hand and side by side added a fresh burn to the stretch of my body.
“Have you ever had your ass fucked before, Dove?” His thumb teased the rim as I held my position. My breath came in explosive pants, even as I fought to calm it. Breath control meant I could last longer.
We could.
“You can if you want, but I don’t know how easy those piercings will go in.”
“That wasn’t my question,” he scolded, and the heavy slap of his hand landing against one ass cheek sent flames to consume me. “I know my piercing is your first. Have you ever had your ass fucked?”
He was killing the mood. I didn’t want to discuss this. “Yes,” I told him. “Can we get back to the rest of the fucking please?” I tacked the please as an afterthought. Then he rubbed the sting from my ass and lined up his cock with my cunt.
“Dove, yes, you can have anything you want. Just don’t lie to me. If someone hurt you, we’ll go slow. I promised you no more pain and I meant it.” The words sparked traitorous tears. One escaped while the others clogged up my throat. He fucked into me like a man on a mission, and the orgasms he’d been edging struck me like an avalanche.
I swore I squirted a little as he pounded my cunt. The world darkened around the edges, and then I came harder than I ever had, my body straining back to him as I clamped down. He came with me on that one, the hot release turning my system molten.
It wasn’t until he eased my leg down and rolled me over, cradling me to his chest, that I realized I was crying. Thank fuck he couldn’t see my face. It was bad enough he could feel my trembling. The shakes seemed to come from my very core. He wrapped those strong arms around me and pressed his lips right to my ear.
I barely understood a word coming out of his mouth, only that soft croon that made me want to trust him. That beckoned to me to hold onto him, and I did. I dug my nails into his forearms. From my bruised and quaking cunt to my swollen nipples, to my mind rocking under the weight of letting him in.
What the hell was I doing? Fucking was fine, getting some release after all these weeks, I deserved that. But he was getting in too deep. The fact he’d gotten the negative relationship to anal. That conjured a loneliness I kept locked away, barricaded behind a dozen locked doors.
The press of his lips to my throat comforted me. So did the strength in his arms and the gentle sweep of his hands. Even as he eased out of me, I shuddered. When I tried to turn my face away, he rolled on top of me and cradled my face in his huge hands. “Dove, did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said, and it came out a little more jagged and snotty than I liked. I sucked in a breath and then swallowed the tears. “You felt good.”
With only the light from the bathroom and the television, his face was a contrast of light and dark. Shadows and lines. Fierce and devoted.
Devoted.
Where the fuck had that word come from?
Kidnapper, remember, Emersyn?
Right.
I sniffed and then ran my foot up the back of his thigh, wresting my control back to where it belonged. Years of discipline, breath control, and need dried up the tears and chased away the shaking.