Captured(63)
I can’t look at him, can only hang my head between my shoulders, shake it, grunt a negative.
The tip of his finger is barely touching me back there, but I’m frozen in place, every nerve ending in my body heated like an electric live wire. I couldn’t move if I tried, and I don’t even try. I let out a whimper, as the slightest increase of pressure has me tensing even tighter, fearful exhilaration rocketing through me.
“You like this? I’m not even touching you, and you’re coming apart.”
“I—I’m scared,” I murmur into the blanket.
“Don’t be scared, Reagan. God, I’d never do anything to hurt you, never, never. Tell me no. Tell me to stop.”
“Stop.”
Immediately, the breath of pressure is gone, and his hand is skimming over my ass cheeks, and the pressure of his other hand on my clit increases, making me forget what just almost happened, what I almost let him do. His caressing hand never stops, moves over my back and cups my butt, one side and then the other, over and over, down to the backs of my thighs and up again, as if he couldn’t ever get enough of touching me like this. I could take this all day, let him touch me like this forever, never quite come and never get tired of it, never get enough of his ravenous appetite for touching me.
Somehow, his gentle circling of my clit with his left hand turns into the three-finger f*ck, that thing he does that morphs me into some ravening orgasmic monster. Except this way, on my hands and knees in front of him, his hand is palm-down, the curve of his fingers pointing to the bed, and of course this has his fingers scraping even more accurately against that place I’m thinking about as my Jesus-f*ck spot, because “G-spot” isn’t nearly descriptive enough a term. Plus, it has me saying that, over and over again, “Jesus…f*ck, oh, god, Jesus, Derek, Jesus-f*ck, that feels good.”
I’m not a church-goer or a believer by any means, but neither am I a habitual blasphemer, nor even usually very vulgar. But Derek does something to me, has this way of pulling just the most vulgar, blasphemous things from me.
Four or five thrusts of his fingers, and I’m coming with firecracker rapidity: oh-oh-oh, coming and coming and coming, and now he’s got that tender, erogenous place where leg meets hip in his right hand, strong fingers holding me hard, left-hand digits still inside me, getting me up and up and up, driving in so hard I’m almost lifted off the mattress, and I’m exploding—
“OH, FUCK!”
That’s me, screaming as he jerks his fingers out of me and shoves his thick, iron-hard cock inside me in one smooth move, grabbing my thigh with his sticky fingers and pulling me against him. I’m pulverized by the feel of him inside me like this, and holy SHIT, I’m still coming, and he’s so f*cking big, stretching me to a blissful burn with his girth and pushing deep with his glorious length.
He holds my hips in place as he pushes in, then shoves me forward, and I move for him, crane my neck to watch him kneeling tall and gorgeous behind me, thick blond hair a riotous mess, moss eyes blazing, pecs flexing and abs tensed, V-cut rippling, thighs like trees, scars glinting in the moonlight. I’m glutting on his beauty. Gorging on the image of him up there behind me, spine straight, so tall and muscular, plowing into me, teeth white as he peels his lips back in a hissing sigh. He moves slowly, drawing out and pushing in glacially, just holding my hips for the moment.
I wonder what I can do in this position to drive him wild, what his button is like this? If I can reach him with my hands, I know the hot button is to feather my fingers through his hair. If I’m riding him cowgirl style, it’s to grind on him like I’m trying to forcefully merge our bodies together. If he’s above me in the missionary position, he goes manic over my legs squeezing his waist and my fingernails raking down his spine. But like this? I don’t know. I’ll have to find out.
The next time he draws out, I lean forward, and when he starts his inward glide, I bend my spine down toward the mattress and push back into his thrust. He growls and his nostrils flare, and he grinds into me when his hips meet my buttocks, an intense and visceral reaction. But not quite it. I move with him like that, rolling back into his movements, watching him, devouring him with my eyes.
When next I dip my spine and lift my ass to drive it down and back onto his driving cock, I squeeze with all the Kegel-strong force I can muster with my inner muscles. I clamp down hard, gripping his shaft with my walls as he slides home.
He growls deep in his throat like a predator, snarling like a lion, pulls back and tightens his grip on my hips and pounds into me so hard my ass quivers with the loud slap of impact, and I shriek with the ecstatic surprise of it.
Yup, that’s it.
Oh, f*ck, is that ever it.
He’s primal now, a lust-maddened savage, our bodies meeting with jarring impact, my body rocked forward on the bed, his cock cramming deep, shoving home again and again, and each time I shift forward, wait, rock back, squeeze hard around him, and each time he growls and grunts and curses.
I started out just trying to make it better for him, already having orgasmed so hard I cried, but the intensity of this is breaking something open inside me, his massive cock hitting me deep and hard, and I’m feeling something well up inside me, something hot and billowing like wildfire and aching with volcanic pressure. I’m totally enthralled by the sound of his voice enjoying me, the feel of his hips slamming into my ass, shaking me all over, my body jolted forward by each powerful thrust, my throbbing * taking all of him, taking the force of his f*cking, and I’m still aching, still desperate for more, still clenching around him and driving back into his f*cking cock, his big thick straight beautiful cock.