Page 70 of Manhattan Heart

She’s as ingrained in me as my heartbeats are.

She’s every rush of blood through my veins and I can no more turn off my love for India than I can stop breathing.

But we’re more than just love right now, as we touch and taste and I watch her cautiously beginning to move.

We’re brittle pleasure knitting back together.

We’re fire and brimstone reigniting.

I’m not damaged, nor am I broken and my girl needs to fuck me how she needs it. How I see it building beneath her skin.

Lust burns through her eyes and I’m the lucky one who sees it.

“You’re beautiful,” I rasp, watching the gentle, testing bouncing she’s doing.

We both need harder and faster, but I won’t rush her.

My cock swells inside her. “Fuck. India. Fuck me.”

I know the hand on my chest is India monitoring my heart and if she won’t get out of her own head, I’ll help her. I take that hand, kiss the palm then lead it to hold onto my neck. She follows suit with the other one and I help again by lifting up my hips, impaling her deeper. “I’m doing it,” she pants, rocking hard.

“I want you so fucking much.”

She smiles. “I know,” her riding becomes more purposeful, like the pleasure has grabbed her hard and she’s forgotten all about being inside her own fears, because she seats down to the root over and over and I feel a tightening inside my gut, the desire pulsing like flames between us.

That’s it, my baby.I grin, watching.

Basking in this gorgeous woman taking what she needs from me.

“So good,” not sure who she’s whispering it to, her eyes are so masked they look closed and she’s flush all over. I want my mouth on that flushed skin so I bury my face in her neck, sucking and licking with her every movement, only giving upward thrusts when she slows down. It’s so good.Too good.Her pussy fucking owns me.

I tell her she’s amazing and perfect and how she feels so tight wrapped around me. India loves verbal cues. She loves dirty talk too, so I give her my best and watch her eyes turn opaque and her body becomes feral—riding, riding, fucking me stupid.

The sound of our flesh slapping fills the bedroom.

Her pants. Mine. We’re a symphony of fucking hotness and my fingers flex on her giving hips, dragging her in. I want to be blinded by India, to feel her going over the edge so beautifully because she can’t help herself and just as I take my fingers to where we are joined, slippery and swollen, she gives a keening sound, her neck arching back and it’s her catalyst.

“Come for me,” I rasp, surprised at the gruffness of my voice.

She forgets to be careful when she fucks us crazy, the pleasure gathering at the base of my spine as I bite the inside of my cheek to hold it back.

“How tight do I feel, Gray?”

“Ah, fuck,baby. So goddamn tight. I can’t see, it’s so good.”

She puffs and pants, working me over.

My spine is pressed to the headboard and thank fuck that massive thing is fixed to the wall or she might have worked it loose.

I dig my hands into the softness of her little butt, helping her to move on me, to take every goddamn last desperate inch until she can’t breathe for tasting my cock in the back of her throat.

My tether is fraying at the edges. Teeth grit together. “India, get there.”

When her eyes ping open, they’re like two fucking green jewels and bliss pours down over me seeing how lost she is in us.

“I’m coming,” she moans, driving down one last time and I feel her tremors begin deep inside, vibrating around the length of me and it’s ecstasy, it’s agony, and I love it. That deep shuddery moan passing through her body has goosebumps rising onto my skin. Feeling her break apart is worth waiting for, because when my wife comes, the world knows about it. She’s not sedate, she’s not quiet and not an inch of her body is left out of her all over shuddering.

Only then do I growl, grab her waist and roll her to her back, her legs go wide and I’m grateful for the room.

---