“I love you,” he says. “I need you to know that before we do this. This isn’t just fucking, not for me.”
“I know.” I reach up and trace his jaw. “It’s not for me either.”
“Good.” He pushes in.
We both groan.He’s big.The stretch is intense, and I gasp, my good hand gripping his bicep, nails digging in. He pauses, jaw clenched, giving me a second to adjust.
“You okay?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes. Move,” I beg.
He pulls back and thrusts in, hard.Deep.I cry out, and he swallows the sound with his mouth. He sets a pace that’s punishing from the start because we’ve waited too long, and neither of us has the patience for slow. His hips slam into mine, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside me that makes my eyes roll back, the headboard hits the wall, and the bed groans. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the feeling of him inside me, filling me, stretching me in a way that borders on too much but is exactly what I need.
“Fuck, Lettie.” He groans against my neck. “You feel incredible. You feel like you were made for me.”
“Harder,” I demand.
“Yeah?” He picks up the pace, and I nearly come off the bed. “Like that?”
“Yes. God, yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. His hand slides down my thigh, gripping it, hitching my leg higher around his waist so he can go deeper. The angle changes, and I scream. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing the sounds I’m making, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips.
“You’re so fucking loud,” he says, grinning against my mouth. “I love it.”
“It’s your fault.”
“I know. And I’m going to make you scream louder.” He pulls out suddenly and flips me over onto my stomach, his hands grip my hips, pulling them up. I’m on my knees, face pressed into the pillow, and before I can catch my breath, he slides back in from behind.
“Oh my god.” The angle is deeper.So much deeper.His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back just enough so he can hear every sound I make, his other hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he growls.
“You.”
“Say my name.”
“Justin.”
“Again.” He thrusts harder.
“Justin.” I’m practically sobbing into the pillow. “Please. I need to come. Please.”
“Touch yourself,” he commands. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My good hand slides between my legs, finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination is overwhelming. His cock hits deep, my fingers work my clit, his hand is in my hair, and his breath is hot against my shoulder.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice wrecked. “That’s my girl. Let me feel it.”
I fall apart. My whole body clenches around him, the orgasm ripping through me so hard I can’t breathe. I bury my face in the pillow and scream his name.
“Fuck, Lettie, I’m …” He follows me over, his hips stuttering, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he comes. His forehead drops between my shoulder blades, his body draped over my back, both of us breathing like we’ve just run a marathon.
We stay like that for a long moment. His lips press against my spine, once, twice, soft and reverent. A completely different energy from what just happened. Then he pulls out gently, disposes of the condom, and collapses beside me, pulling me against him.
I’m boneless, wrecked, every muscle in my body has turned to liquid. I curl into his chest, press my face against his skin, and listen to his heartbeat hammering.
“So,” he says after a minute. “The reviews.”