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He makes a hungry noise as our mouths open and our tongues eagerly find each other. I don’t have to think about what I’m going to do or question if this is right, wrong, or anything. I let go of control, and I let my desire take over.
I’m kissing him as though my life depends on it. We’re kissing each other like, if we stop, we have to face up to what we’ve done, what we’re doing… so we keep on.
His hands move to my ass, and he makes a stifled groaning noise as he massages it, squeezing the mounds, as though he’s as obsessed with me as I am with him. Maybe he is, physically…
But the rest? I don’t think about that.
“I need you,” he gasps, breaking off the kiss. “I need younow.”
He picks me up, carrying me as he will on our wedding day.
But there won’t be one. I should do what he said—tell him to stop.
He carries me to the bottom of the stairs, handling me as though I weigh nothing, making me feel like I’m floating on a fantasy.
We kiss in intervals as he climbs the stairs, my lips sizzling hotter each second, my panties rubbing against my clit and folds as if getting me ready.
I should tell him. He has to know before we do anything else.
This is what I’ve always wanted, to make my man turn feral, crazed, and obsessed.
He kicks open the door to the spare room, places me on the floor, and then shoves it closed behind him. When he turns to me, I know I’ve never seen a man so filled with need. He clenches his fists at his sides, his eyes blazing, his lips glimmering from our kisses.
“Bend over. Now.”
His voice is urgent. I almost tell him,No, not like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The need deep inside isn’t concerned about civility, romance, or any of that. My core aches and tells me to get his seed and his body into mine. That’s it.
I do as he says, even as my heart thumps, even as part of me wishes we could take it slower. He doesn’t know what this means to me. Even so, I’m on the bed, bent over.
He growls like a wild beast, approaching me from behind, grabbing my jeans, and yanking them down, my panties tangled up with them. He doesn’t pull them down all the way, trapping my thighs together instead.
“Fucking. Hell.”
Looking over my shoulder, my heart flurries at the way he stares at me, gazing at my ass like he’s never seen a better sight.
“You’ll take every inch,” he snarls, his eyes glazed.
“Hmm,” I moan, knowing the time’s getting closer.
I need to say something.
He unbuckles his belt and pulls his jeans down just low enough, as if he can’t wait.
I whimper as his massive cock springs up.
I’ve often wondered what he looked like down there, but he’s bigger than I assumed. He’shuge, so massive that when he grabs his base in his big hand, there are still one or two hand lengths left, and he’s wide, veins bulging.
“Every. Inch.”
He stumbles forward like a man in a dream.
He brings his helm up my thigh, leaving a trail of hot wet pre-come, getting closer and closer to entering me.
“Bryson…”
He’s now rubbing his helm against my folds, so close to my aching entrance. An instinct tells me to shut up, keep this to myself, and don’t think about sharing this revelation.
