Page 170 of Filthy Promises

I reach between us to find him hard and straining, pre-cum already gathering at the tip. My fingers wrap around his length, stroking slowly.

“I need you inside me,” I tell him, my voice hoarse with desire. “Need to feel you.”

His eyes go black with lust. “How do you want me?”

The question surprises me. Vincent Akopov asking what I want instead of simply taking.

Wonders never cease.

“Like this,” I say, shepherding him between my thighs. “Face to face. I want to see you.”

He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. But he doesn’t push forward.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you,” I whisper, cradling his face in my hands. “I love you, Vincent Akopov.”

With those words, he pushes inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust that tears the breath from my lungs.

“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. “So tight. So perfect around me.”

He stills, fully seated inside me. Our bodies are as close as two people can possibly be. I feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely.

“Move,” I urge, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please.”

With a strangled chuckle, he begins to thrust, slow and deep, each stroke purposeful. His eyes never leave mine.

“I want to feel you everywhere,” I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Deeper.”

He responds immediately, lifting my legs higher around his waist, changing the angle so he can thrust even deeper. Each stroke now hits a spot inside me that makes sparks fly behind my eyelids.

“Like this?”

“Yes!” I cry out. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

His rhythm becomes more urgent. Sweat glistens on his brow. “You feel so good,” he groans. “So fucking good wrapped around my cock. Spread so wide and moaning for me, taking me, pulsing around me…”

“I want to ride you,” I suddenly decide, pushing against his chest.

He rolls onto his back without breaking our connection. Now, I’m on top, straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep inside me.

“Beautiful,” he breathes as his hands slide up to cup my breasts. “My goddess.”

I begin to move, finding my own rhythm, taking my pleasure and giving him his. His hands roam my body like he can’t decide what he wants to touch first—my breasts, my hips, my stomach where our child grows.

“The mother of my child,” he says with awe. “Carrying my baby while taking my cock so perfectly.”

I lean forward, changing the angle so my clit grinds against him with each movement.

“I’m close again,” I pant, moving faster. “So close.”

“Touch yourself,” he commands. “Let me see you make yourself come on my cock.”

I slip my hand between us. The dual sensation—his thick length stretching me open, my own fingers circling my most sensitive spot—shoves me toward the edge.

“That’s it,” he encourages, thrusting up to meet my downward movements. “Take what you need from me.”

“I’m c-coming,” I cry out as the pleasure peaks. “Vince!”

---