Does It Hurt? (52)
“Yes,” I whisper, grinding my pussy against him, disappointed when I feel the material of his shorts instead of his bare cock.
I should’ve said he was naked first, purely for my own self-gratification.
He delivers a sharp bite before releasing my nipple, tipping his chin up just enough for the moonlight to catch the severe planes of his face and reveal his darkened eyes.
It’s paralyzing—the way he hates to want me. It’s empowering.
“You were kissing up my thighs,” I tell him, holding his stare. “You were begging to lick me.”
A divot appears in his right cheek, a slightly crooked curl to his lips. Those dimples give him away, otherwise, his amusement could only be detected in his eyes.
“You said let me taste you, bella. My pussy was dripping wet just as it is now, and you were nearly drooling just to get a taste.”
A growl forms deep in his chest, and he sits up, releasing his grip on my wrists.
“Keep your hands above your head, Sawyer. If you want to touch me, you’ll be held to the same rules and you will beg for it.”
Shouldn’t be an issue.
Except the moment he slides down my form, settling his shoulders between my legs, I’m bursting with the need to run my hands through his hair.
I resist while he brings my sweet dreams to life and places soft kisses up my thigh, maintaining eye contact as he does. The shadows are deeper now that he’s no longer directly in the moonlight, but I can still see his eyes just enough to feel the intensity behind them.
Right when he reaches my pussy, he pauses, his breath fanning across the sensitive area.
“Let me taste you, bella,” he whispers devilishly, that accent making the words sound so much more delicious than in my dream.
My heart flies into my throat, nearly preventing the desperate yes from escaping.
The dimple reappears, but he denies me the sight, dipping his chin down and gliding his tongue in one long sweep up my slit.
Again, my back is arching off the bed, and I’m curling my hands into tight fists to abate the need to touch him.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan, panting when the pointed end of his tongue swipes back and forth across my clit, igniting every single nerve within.
How does he manage to hit every one of them?
My hips buck, and my eyes roll. Already, I’m nearing an orgasm. That dream pushed me toward the edge, and Enzo bringing it to life is transcendent.
My hands grip the pillow above me, curling into it fiercely. He diverts his attention down, plunging inside my pussy with fervor, licking me so thoroughly that I’m convinced there isn’t an inch of me he hasn’t feasted on.
He hums against me before growling, “How does it feel to be eaten alive?”
“It’s not enough,” I mewl breathlessly. “I’d rather you fuck me to death.”
He rises to his knees and tugs his shirt over his head by the back of his collar. My mouth waters at the sight of moonlight and shadows engaging in a war across every ridge and curve on his physique.
I’m on the verge of sitting up and licking his abs. However, he’s already pulling down his shorts, revealing something much more tantalizing. His cock juts straight out, curving upward just the slightest bit. That’s the secret to him hitting all those perfect spots inside me.
“Why did you get to be God’s favorite?”
He stares down at me with a savage expression.
“You can ask him yourself when I take you to see him.”
I bite my lip, but a gasp breaks through when he grabs my hips, lifting them to the height of his own, and then lines his cock to my entrance with only my upper back on the bed.
He keeps me there suspended, so close to feeling complete again.
“Let me take you to him, bella.”
“Fuck, yes, fill me up—”
He drives inside before I can finish, a sharp cry replacing my plea. He pauses, giving me time to adjust to his size. It’s unnatural, the way he fills me so completely.
“Shh, the caretaker will hear you,” he murmurs.
On cue, there’s a creak outside our door, racketing up my heart rate to catastrophic levels. I curl my lips together, attempting to keep quiet while Enzo withdraws, then slams inside me again.
“Enzo, let me touch you,” I beg.
Uncaring of his response, I grab onto his forearms before he can answer, feeling the thick protruding veins threaded throughout them. He picks up a steady pace, his grip on my hips becoming bruising.
My mouth opens on a silent scream, my back bowing until I’m practically balancing on my head as he fucks me.
I’m clawing at his arms while the sharp sound of skin slapping arises.
“Oh God,” I cry, trying to keep my voice down but failing miserably.
“Can you see him, baby? Ask him for forgiveness.”
“Why?” I pant, another high-pitched moan nearly swallowing the word.
“Because you worship me now.”
He ends his promise with a sharp thrust, this one angled differently to hit that spot inside me that has electricity racing down my spine.
God, how could I not worship him? Sex with him is the only time I’ve ever prayed.
I bite my lip hard, the orgasm deep in my stomach building rapidly. I’m trying to slow it down—to savor this—but my body has taken on a mind of its own. My hand darts to my center, and I’m circling my clit firmly, amping the pleasure up to dizzying heights.