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I knew it would be good. Rough and unforgiving like the man himself. But nothing could have prepared me for the way he takes my body. Thrust after thrust, he goes deep, painfully so.
My body grips him for dear life. I’m moaning loudly. The sound of skin hitting skin competes withthe wetness of my arousal. Just as I’m about to peak, he stops.
“No.” My moan is long and whiny.
I’m practically panting, begging for more, but only when my body calms does he push back in.
By the fourth time of him doing this, I’m physically shaking, tears wetting my face.
“Please,” I beg again for the millionth time. “I need it.”
His chuckle just makes me cry more, my shoulders sagging.
“What do you need?”
I pause for just a moment, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I can’t take him doing it again.
Wrong move.
His movements start again, and I pray he’ll let me come. It’s painful, the sex, the denial, knowing what I’m doing with him. All of it hurts, yet it’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
His hands bunch my pajama shirt, gripping the top and the bottom together, in the middle of my back. The hold gives him leverage to yank my body back and forth.
I pant, trying to tilt my hips, anything to just push myself over the cliff. He stills again.
“Bad girl.”
“Please,” I sob into the pillow. “You.”
“What?” he demands, pulling my hair to the left of my face.
My neck screams at the angle, but it doesn’tmatter. Nothing but coming matters. “You,” I scream out. “I want you.” My words end on a sob.
“That’s my girl.”
His right hand lands on the mattress, and he pulls almost all the way out. I know this time will be different.
“Yours.” I nod.
I feel his body tense and close my eyes in anticipation, my arms lock to take the force of his thrust . . . but it doesn’t come.
The doorknob to my room rattles.
“Please, ignore it.”
He doesn’t. A soft pat to my ass, with a quick and serious, “Quiet,” is all I get as my masked man climbs off me, then the bed.
I lie helpless and needy.
The doorknob jiggles again. Panicked, I tug at my restraints, pulling left and right. I only work myself up more when the ribbons don’t release.
A hand settles on my right ankle, startling me. His forefinger wiggles across the sole of my foot.
“Shh.”
Can I trust him? Something tells me that I can, probably the same part of me that says to let a stranger fuck me. But right now, I don’t have much of a choice.
Sucking in a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart and start to close my legs.
