Page 113 of Big Dick Energy

His command was the final key turning in the lock. His mouth found my clit again, sucking hard, his fingers and thumb working in a relentless rhythm that stripped away the last of my control.

The orgasm tore through me like a runaway train, violent and shattering. A raw, broken scream was ripped from my throat, echoing off the cinderblock walls. I convulsed around his fingers, my entire body seizing as wave after wave of pure, mindless ecstasy crashed over me. I was dimly aware of my own voice, of his low, satisfied groans as he drew out every last shuddering spasm.

Before I could even come down, before my breathing could settle, he was moving. I heard the frantic rustle of clothing. Then his hands were on my hips again, pulling me back, aligning himself.

The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against my soaked, sensitive entrance. He didn’t ask. He didn’t tease. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside me.

I cried out again, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain. I was so full, stretched so perfectly around him. He leaned over me, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against my back, blanketing me in his heat and scent. One hand tangled violently in my hair, tugging my head back. The other wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A dominant, grounding weight that made me feel utterly possessed.

“That’s it,” he rasped in my ear, his breath hot. “That’s my girl.”

He withdrew almost completely and slammed back into me. The force of it drove me up the table. He set a punishing, frantic pace, fucking me with a raw, primal urgency that left no room for gentle lovemaking. This was claiming. This was him erasing every doubt, every ugly word, with the brutal, beautiful truth of his body.

The table legs screeched against the concrete floor with every drive of his hips. I was moaning with every breath, my own sounds mingling with his grunts and the wet, slick noise of our joining. His grip in my hair tightened, his hand on my throat holding me steady for his possession.

“You feel that?” he grunted, his voice strained. “That’s all me. All for me.”

“Yes,” I sobbed, the word tearing itself from me. “Only you.”

He drove into me harder, faster, his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate. I could feel my own second climax coiling deep in my belly, sparked back to life by his relentless assault. The room dissolved into sensation, the smell of his skin, the sound of our bodies, the exquisite friction building to an impossible peak.

His breathing hitched, his thrusts becoming shallow, frantic. “Davina… fuck… I’m gonna…”

His voice broke as his own release tore through him. I felt him pulse deep inside me, a hot, rhythmic flooding that sent me spiraling over the edge right behind him. My second climax was a silent, shuddering implosion, my entire body clenching around him, drawing out every last drop of his pleasure.

We collapsed together over the table, a sweaty, breathless heap. His weight was heavy and perfect on top of me. His hand slipped from my throat to cradle my jaw, his forehead resting against my shoulder blades. Our harsh, ragged breaths were the only sound in the room.

For a long moment, we didn’t move. I could feel the frantic hammering of his heart against my back, a rhythm that slowly began to calm, syncing with my own.

He shifted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the nape of my neck. “Everyone heard you,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “They all know exactly who you belong to.”

Everything about that excited me.

CHAPTER 33

MY SHIRT, HER LEGS, NO PRODUCTIVITY

DALLAS

Sunlight flooded the kitchen, warming the granite and catching the steel, but I wasn't looking at any of that. I was looking at her sitting across from me in my t-shirt, legs bare, no pants, no bra, not a single damn thing underneath as far as I could tell.

Davina had her laptop open, a half-eaten croissant forgotten beside her coffee cup, and that little crease between her eyebrows. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, loose strands escaping to frame her face. No makeup. Bare legs tucked under her on the barstool.

She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” She didn’t look up.

“Yes. It’s my favorite thing to do.”

Her lips twitched, but she kept her eyes on the screen. “Some of us have to work. Stop being distracting.”

“I'm literally just sitting here eating eggs.”

“You're sitting there looking like that.” She finally glanced up, her gaze traveling from my face down to my chest. I'd forgotten a shirt because I was at home, and also because I'd noticed she had trouble concentrating when I was shirtless, which was entertaining. “It's inconsiderate.”

“Should I put on a parka? Full hazmat suit?”

“That would help, yes.”