Page 132 of Thorns of Death
“Good girl,” he praised when I stopped at his feet and looked up.
He fisted my hair with one hand and I licked my lips in anticipation as his cock sprung out, thick and hard, ready for me. I opened my mouth. The swollen head dripped with pre-cum, and the moment it hit my tongue, I hummed my approval.
Eagerly, I sucked him into my mouth, taking him as deep into my throat as I could.
“Cazzo!” he shouted, his head falling back and his eyes closing in bliss.
I licked him and sucked his erection like my life depended on it. His grunts and moans were music to my ears. His grip on my pigtails tightened to the point of pain as he pushed his cock deeper until it hit the back of my throat.
I moaned. His thighs trembled. Then he pulled out.
“On the mattress. Hands and knees.”
It was ridiculous how fast I obeyed him. I didn’t give a shit, I was starving for more pleasure.
He went to the nightstand and pulled out an oblong object.
“What’s that?”
“Lube. Touch yourself,” he grunted. “Rub your clit and tell me how it feels.”
I slid my hand between my legs and stroked myself.
“Good,” I moaned. “So, so good.” My eyelids shuttered as I watched his hands—strong and veiny—open the lube and squirt some of it out. My insides clenched, imagining those fingers, now glistening, inside me.
I moaned, rolling my hips. His nostrils flared, telling me he liked what he was seeing.
He crawled on the bed, coming up behind me. “Open your legs.”
I obeyed, never ceasing circling my clit. Whimpers and sounds of wet flesh, my wet pussy and his hard, lubed cock, were like an erotic orchestra, making notes with our moans and grunts.
He grabbed the lube again, slicking it up his cock, and in the next breath, I felt the tip of him teasing my back entrance, circling. Then there was pressure and the head of it pushed inside.
I hissed. He grunted.
He stroked my back, petting me. Whispering Italian words I didn’t understand. “You’re doing so good,amore. Relax.” I tried, I really did, but my body refused. “Want me to stop?”
Something about his care, his worry, had me determined to give him all the pleasure. I wanted to be his world. Own his every touch. Every glance. I wanted it all.
“Isla, do you want me to stop?” he repeated, his voice a raspy grunt.
“No.”
He pushed in deeper until the burn began to subside, and then he was even deeper. I felt so full. It felt dirty. So good. It was too much. Not enough.
My chest heaved. I licked my lips, turned on like never before. Enrico began to move, slowly, rocking back and forth. Then he reached around me, replacing my finger with his as he stroked my clit. My whole body burned and tingled.
“Oh, God… Oh, God,” I panted, my breathing labored like I was running a marathon. Sweat broke over my skin as the pressure built.
His palm smoothed the skin on my back, down my ass, back to my back. “Madre di Dio, you feel so good. You were made for me. Every inch of you. Even your ass.”
God, his filthy mouth. His dirty deeds. It seemed I liked them all. “More,” I demanded.
He straightened and grabbed my hips with both hands, then drove deeper. I gasped. Then he thrust in, driving himself all the way in, his hips molding to my ass cheeks.
“Is this good, baby?”
I nodded, unable to find the words. My body sang. My pussy clenched, feeling empty. As if he could read my mind, he reached around with one hand while leaving the other on my hip and drove his fingers inside my entrance.
