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“Yes.” As I inhaled, I let out a small laugh. “I love that I’m still on the table and all I can smell is spaghetti and how it’s not even a little distracting.”
“All I can smell is your pussy. Which is distracting because I want to eat it again.” He slowly sank into me. “Goddamn it, Lily. You feel fucking incredible.”
His pace was unhurried, his body heating mine as it lay on top of me. A weight I found so incredibly sexy because it didn’t crush me.
It held me.
And that was everything I needed from him, even as my breath hitched from taking in more, inch by inch, until he was fully buried.
That was when I really moaned. When the sound from my throat became so guttural that I was positive he could feel it within his shaft.
“Fuck yes,” he hissed. “This is exactly what I wanted.” He leaned up, pulling me to the table’s edge, and while he stood in front of me, my legs wrapped around him, he took his first stroke. “Jesus, Lily. You get tighter every time I fuck you.”
His thrusts were getting deeper.
If there was an end, he was now hitting it. But not like a hammer. He was circling that spot, the one that craved his presence, and all it did was add to my wetness.
And make me moan louder.
“Harder.” I didn’t know how my body could so easily and so quickly find that place again, but I was there, dangling, dominated, and desperate for that feeling I knew he could give me. My nails stabbed his hands as they roamed my chest, his landing on my breasts, pinching my nipples through my bra, mine resting on top of his, pushing him to do it even stronger. “Faster!”
“You want to come again?”
The way I exhaled gave him the response he didn’t need since I was sure he could feel what was happening inside my body.
But I added, “Yes. Please.” And then, “Now,” in case it made him fuck me even rougher.
Not a roughness that was careless and reckless. A roughness that came from a man who knew what I could handle and just how I wanted it.
But even after my begging, he didn’t give in. His speed stayed exactly the same, as though he was building me up first. What did change was his thumb. It pressed against that tender spot he’d licked earlier. He didn’t just hold it there; he brushed the pad of that finger back and forth.
“Wetter. Just what I wanted,” he exhaled.
He was working me.
Leading me.
“Holy! Shit!” I unraveled my legs from around him and set my feet on the lip of the table, keeping my thighs wide and open. “Yes!”
The new position took away all restrictions. He now had full access to do whatever he wanted.
And what he decided, was to send me so far over the cliff that my whole body was wriggling with spasms, my stomach shuddering, my lips screaming, “Brady!”
That was when he went faster.
When he finally caved and his movements became harsher.
When he twisted his hips, aiming for every angle, adding to the overwhelming ache inside me.
“You’re getting tighter again. Fuck me.”
Within a few more strokes, I was nearing the comedown—a place I never thought I’d reach at this rate.
He lowered his upper body, shortening the space between us so I could wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck.
I was spent, exhausted.
I just needed to breathe.
