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“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says and it’s a strange, twisted compliment. One I’m not sure he’s even aware of. “You ready for me, sweet girl?”
I bite his fingers. Hard. His cock jerks in response. It’s extraordinary the amount of power I feel bringing this man to his knees. He yanks at my hips until I’m dangling over the side of the table. Without warning, he shoves himself into me to the hilt and a searing, pleasurable cry escapes me as he knocks the breath out of me.
Fuck. He’s huge. My eyes begin to water. Without warning he pulls out and pushes back in. Thrusting and not giving me the time to brace myself. But then it turns into a lull sense of rhythm where I am barely able to hang onto reality.
Is this real? Am I really fucking Luca Armani right now?
The moment my mind wanders I’m rattled by his next thrust, as if his demand is to keep my attention only on him.
My arm twists awkwardly and shoves into the cake as I try to ground myself for every slap of impact. My eyes roll in the back of my head as I’m slammed into repeatedly, the sound of slapping echoing. A cold breeze sweeps past me as I grab one of my tits, the other hand clutching the white tablecloth.
Luca’s hand slams on the table, his fingers curling into the cake. He fucks me like it’s his personal mission to destroy me. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing. Right now, I’m willing to let him. I’m at his mercy and begging for more.
He grabs the back of my legs and hooks my knees over his shoulder. The shift in movement has my toes curling and I’m screaming out his name. He’s deeper at this angle, knocking all sense out of me as he hits that spot over and over again.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises with a bruising grip.
“Yes,” I groan. “Yes!” I say louder. Fuck, do I want this release. Fuck, do I need it. “Luca. Let me fuck you until you come undone.”
I can feel the hesitation. The resistance he has to let me take any type of control. I purposefully squeeze my pussy around his cock, and he groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Let me fuck you, Luca.” I grit out, all command.
He takes me with him as he sits back on the chair. I’m straddling him now, and I begin to ride him to my own euphoria.
His fingers glide over me, chunks of cake are covering my skin, but I don’t care as I bounce on his cock. He sucks on my nipples through the bralette, coated in cake.
I can feel a slight sweat glistening over me as it competes with the cool night breeze.
His other hand explores my ass, grabbing so hard it bruises. “This sweet asshole is going to belong to me, too.”
“Yes,” I breathe, so close to crumbling.
“Are you going to milk every drop out of my cock, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I breathe again. My legs begin to clench around him as a wave begins to crawl over my body. His hand reaches my throat and I moan.
“Fuck,” I hear him grit. Luca’s grip tightens on my throat, and I can hardly breathe. I don’t care. I’m so fucking close.
So close.
Almost—
My body convulses as I break apart, his name a glorious cry on my lips.
Luca’s body goes rigid beneath me, and I can feel him filling me, pulse after pulse, filling me up as promised.
I continue milking him slowly, motioning my hips back and forth selfishly wanting every last drop.
Reality begins to sink in as my breathing slows. We’re both covered in cake. Those piercing blue eyes are missing nothing.
Luca’s hand is still around my throat, but his thumb now strokes delicately, thoughtfully. Perhaps thinking about whether he should snap my neck now he’s got what he wanted.
The harsh reality further sinks in as I realize I’d succumbed and submitted. I gave him exactly what he wanted.
And I fucking enjoyed it.
Am I actually out of my mind? I can’t submit to a man like this.
