Pleasure slams into me so fast, so hard, I can’t hold it back.
“Jackson, I—oh, God?—”
“Come for me, baby,” he growls against me.
I shatter.
My vision goes white, my whole body trembling, my moans muffled by the pillow as I come hard, again and again, wave after wave.
Jackson doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t slow.
He lets me ride it out, drawing every ounce of pleasure from my shaking, overstimulated body.
And when I finally collapse, panting, wrecked, destroyed?
Jackson flips me onto my back, climbs over me, and presses his thick cock against my entrance, teasing.
His gaze is molten fire, pure possession.
“I’m not done with you yet, baby.”
Then—he thrusts in deep.
And I am gone.
Jackson slams into me so deep, so hard, I feel him in my fucking soul.
I cry out, arching under him, my body still wrecked from my orgasm, but it doesn’t matter—he doesn’t let up.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, deeper, rougher—his cock stretching me, filling me, owning me.
“Fuck, baby.” His voice is raw, feral. He watches where our bodies join, his expression twisted in pure hunger. “Look at you. Absolute perfection.”
He gently presses a big hand to my belly, his gaze dark and possessive.
He’s fucking me like I belong to him.
Like I’m his.
Like he’s been aching for this, for me, for months—and now that he has me again, he’s going to make sure I never forget who I fucking belong to.
And I love it.
His pace quickens, his thrusts deep and brutal, slamming into me with enough force to push me up the mattress.
“Stop worrying about things that aren’tus,” he growls. “Social media isn’t real life.”
I clutch his shoulders, nails sinking into his hard, perfect muscles.
“Oh my god.”
He grips my throat.
Not too tight. Just enough.
Enough to make my body melt.