I’ve never even slept with a woman before.
Fucked, yes, but actually fallen asleep afterwards?
Never.
I obviously blame whatever it is she drugged me with, but if all of this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
Despite the transformative, otherworldly events that have occurred in less than twenty-four hours, I am still just a man.
The more my mind stirs into wakefulness, the more ravenous I become. My eyes devour every inch of her within my sight. The pressure of my full bladder does nothing to coax me out of bed. To risk waking her up, sabotaging this quiet space where there is no wall of unhealed wounds between us, leaving only shared breath and a skin-to-skin contact I never knew I needed.
A pressure at my throat draws my fingers to...
A collar?
My thoughts and breathing come to a halt as she gives a soft whimper, and I wait for her to roll out of my arms.
Instead, her ass wiggles until my cock—already painfully hard—is wedged directly between the cleft of her ass.
It takes all of my self-control not to rut against her.
And just when I’ve regained some composure, her back arches, driving pressure up my dick, before her hips curl inward, sending that delicious friction downwards.
My breath punches out of me, balls tightening with desperate need for release. Before my rational mind can stop me, my grip flexes around her hip I give a small, mindless thrust forward.
Violette’s response is a soft, needy moan that makes my heart—and my cock—fucking sing.
The image of slowly sinking inside her to the hilt, and I wonder what other pretty sounds I can inspire her to make.
“Touch me.”
The words are a whispered command, and coming from her mouth, the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. It takes a moment for my brain to reconcile the fact that I didn’t imagine them, and it makes my heart beat so hard it nearly dances out of my chest.
I shift my grip to trace a feather-light line up her hip, waist, to the tip of one breast; administer a firm pinch that draws a gasp from her lips, and ends on a breathy, “Gods, yes.”
Those two words are like gasoline to a fire, driving my need to claim this woman and incinerate every hesitation my mind conjures. Fingers skate back down her writhing body to slide between her legs. A primal urge only she can inspire consumes me.
My teeth sink into her shoulder, and I groan the moment my fingers meet hot, wet flesh.
Violette whispers a curse as one of my fingertips slicks through her entrance, sweeping back and forth several times before finally reaching her clit. Tossing her head back against my shoulder, her gives a needy thrust forward as the tension in her body increases.
Adjusting my cock, I press the top of my length flush against the wet seam of her pussy, and nudge between her thick thighs. My eyes roll in the back of my head the moment my cock meets wet, exposed flesh.
Her body immediately goes rigid.
Too much, too fast?
When Violette rotates in my arms, I expect her glare, but instead I find something far more intimidating.
Vulnerability.
“You will make me cum.You,however,do not get to cum. Do you understand?”
It takes conscious effort for my mind to process more than the wordscumandcum.
I’ve never felt more like a dog in my entire life.
Thankfully, my hippocampus and prefrontal cortex prove to be more developed than an actual dog’s, and manage to recall Violette’s earlier words.