Hard and deep, he pounds into me, every thrust shoving me into the headboard. The wood slams against the wall, and I grip the slats until my knuckles ache. His fist stays in my hair, keeping my back arched, and his other hand grips my hip so hard, I know the bruises will last a week… but it will be totally worth it.
"So fucking tight," he snarls, snapping his hips so hard, each drive rocks me forward and my arms ache from bracing myself. "Like you were made for me."
He twists my head so I can see him, watching how he slams into me, in total control of my body, but there's a question in his eyes: Can I take it? Is it too much?
It's not.
It's everything.
"More," I cry out. "Please, more."
With a loud growl, he gives me exactly what I ask for, the force of it making the bed frame protest. His hand leaves my hip, slides around and between my legs, fingers finding my clit before dragging my copious juices higher to coat the swollen bundle of nerves.
"Touch yourself." He guides my hand down between my thighs, using his to drag my fingers over my clit, again and again, until I no longer need convincing to stroke myself. "I want to feel you come around me. I need to hear you come again as I fill you up."
My fingers are soaked and shaking as I start to rub harder, and the combination of my hand and his cock driving into me makes me moan into the pillow.
He kisses my shoulder then slides his hand over my backside, his thumb tracing lower, pressing against my ass. I stiffen.
"Okay?"
Am I?
"Yes. I'm mean, I've never…"
He nods against my back, his scruff scratching me as he kisses my heated skin. "I've got you."
He pushes in, just the tip, and the fullness that's everywhere, him inside me, his thumb, my own fingers, is so damn much that I can't even draw a full breath. My legs are trembling, my arms are barely holding me up, and whatever is building inside me feels like it might just tear me apart.
"Beau, please."
I'm not sure what I'm asking him, but he seems to know. He leans forward, covering my back with his body, as his weight presses me flat. Instead of feeling claustrophobic I feel small and protected, cocooned by his massive body as he continues to slide in and out. When his teeth find the curve of my neck and he bites down, not gently but hard and possessive, and sharp enough that the sting blooms hot across my skin, I clench around him so violently that we both groan.
"Tell me you're mine." His hips snap forward, driving deeper. "Say it."
I hesitate, then whimper, "I'm yours."
But it's unconvincing because even though I want to be, maybe this is nothing more than some wild dirty talk.
"Again. Like you mean it."
Gasping, I bite down on the pillow and force myself to allow the idea to settle somewhere deep inside me. Maybe I could be his?
"Say it. Say my name," he demands, loudly.
"I'm yours, Beau," I cry out, finally admitting, both to him and to myself, that I am completely and utterly owned by this man, body and soul.
"Fucking right, you are." His fist tightens in my hair, and I wince, crying out in a mixture of pleasure and pain that I never knew would be so intoxicating as he drives into me with everything he has, satisfying this craving we've both been denying for far too long.
The orgasm rips through me so hard, my vision goes dark. My whole body seizes around him, and the sound that comes out of me sounds barely human. Like an animalistic release of months of pent-up desire and need. He slams deep one final time, one hand going to the headboard, before he comes with a roar that rattles through both of us.
When we collapse, his weight settles on me, heavy and hot. For a while, the only sound is our laboured breathing and the tick of the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand.
He rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, so my back is against his chest, and his arm is locked around my waist. His nose buries in my hair, and he breathes me in, deep and slow, a low rumble vibrating through his chest that even my addled brain decides isn't quite normal.
"I hope you meant it, Red, cos I'm never letting you go."
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