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I needed to hold on.
I needed to give him my weight that I could no longer bear myself.
Rather than staying still, he lifted me into the air, circling my legs around his waist, bouncing me over his dick as he carried me. With each jump, he spread more of my wetness over him, but what he also did was release the lingering jitters that had been stranded in my stomach. Somehow, he even knew the lasting spasms were hiding within me, and he set them free.
After each bump, I clung to him.
I yelled for him.
I moved with him, meeting him in the middle, moaning from the friction as he slipped back.
He held on to my hips and said, “Jesus, you know how to fuck.”
I expected him to walk us into his bedroom, a mattress to be beneath some part of me, the crackling of his fireplace as the background noise.
But when he reached the living room, he placed me on top of the couch, the hard edge no wider than a balance beam with cushions directly behind my ass. And as he set me there, he tore off my shirt and bra, leaving me naked while he removed the remaining clothes he had on.
Finally bare, he pressed our bodies together, sliding back in like he’d never left.
“And you’re still so fucking wet,” he groaned.
“Because I want more.”
“Insatiable … like me.”
I ran my fingers over his chest, across the deep grooves and solid, rock-hard muscle before dipping down his abs, feeling the way they outlined, becoming more defined as he thrust into me.
“But just with you,” I clarified.
It wasn’t only his body that I was obsessed with, watching the cords and etches as he fucked the breath out of me. It was also the way he looked at me while he did it that owned me like nothing I’d ever experienced.
That feral nature in his eyes.
The desire.
Need.
I couldn’t get enough, and there was no way I ever would.
“Brady”—I pulled his mouth toward mine—“I want you to fill me with your cum.”
“Don’t say that to me. It’ll make me go fucking wild.”
The smile was already on my lips, but it grew for him. For the anticipation of what he was about to do to me. For what was going to happen when the wildness took over. For the realization that my fourth orgasm in less than an hour would feel as good as the first.
“But I want it,” I told him. “I want to watch you come, and I want to feel it drip out of me.”
“So fucking naughty.” He kissed me. “And all mine.” He reared his hips back and plunged in, twisting, rocking as though he wasn’t afraid to send me flying into the cushions. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” easily rolled off my lips because I was almost there again.
The build nagged at my insides, the satisfaction growing with every pump.
Just like the table, I bent my knees and rolled my bare feet over the tough corner and used my hands to balance, squeezing the section of the couch by my heels.
What this position allowed was one hell of a view.
Of his body and those delicious muscles.
