Page 85 of Tempting Tessa

He slams into me, and my arms give out. I’m face-down, ass-up, and getting absolutely ruined. I’ve never been happier in my life.

His hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, and I love it. Love the sting, the possession, the way he fucking owns me in this position.

“Look at this ass,” he growls, landing a sharp smack that echoes through the room. My cheek jiggles, and I moan into the pillow, pushing back against him. “Fucking jiggling every time I pound into you. That’s my ass.”

“Yes—yours. Fuck.”

“Say it again.” Another thrust, deep enough to make my toes curl. “Whose ass is this?”

“Yours!” I’m screaming it now, beyond shame, beyond dignity. “Yours, Matteo, all yours⁠—”

“Good girl.” His hand slides around to my belly, holding me steady while his hips snap forward.

I can feel the orgasm building again, that tight coil at the base of my spine winding tighter with every thrust. He’s hitting something inside me that makes my vision white out, and I’m drooling on the pillow, completely fucking gone.

“Matteo—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come⁠—”

“Not yet.” His free hand snakes under me, fingers finding my clit, and I nearly sob. “I decide when you come. You come when I say.”

“Please—please let me⁠—”

“Beg me.” His voice is wrecked, guttural, like he’s barely holding on. “Beg me to let you come on my cock.”

“Please, please, please—” I’m chanting it, my face mashed into the pillow, my entire body trembling. “Please, Daddy, please let me come. I need it, I need⁠—”

“Now.” His fingers press hard against my clit. “Come for me. Now.”

I can feel him coming also; his grip on my hip going white-knuckled.

“Fuck—Contessa—” He buries himself to the hilt, and I feel him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me up. His groan is primal, almost pained, like coming inside me hurts him in the best way possible.

We’re both shaking, breathing ragged. He pulls out slowly, and the sounds of him leaving are loud and filthy.

I start to roll over, to curl into him, but his hand lands on my lower back. Firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t move.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Push it out.”

I blink, my brain still foggy from the orgasm. “Push what out?”

“My cum.” His voice is steady, commanding, like he’s telling me to pass the salt. “Push it out of that pretty little pussy. Right into my mouth.”

My brain short-circuits. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His hands are on my hips, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s flipping himself. I’m still on my hands and knees, but now he’s on his back underneath me, his head positioned perfectly between my thighs.

“Matteo—”

“Push.” His breath is hot against my swollen, dripping pussy. “I want every drop. Don’t waste it.”

I’m mortified. I’m aroused. I’m both, simultaneously, and my body is already responding because apparently I have no self-respect. I clench, feeling the cum pool at my entrance, and push.

The first rush hits his tongue, and the sound he makes—this low, guttural groan of satisfaction—sends a shiver through me. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, and I feel his tongue swipe through the mess, lapping at the cum as it slides out of me.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my flesh.