Page 152 of Fractured Devotion
I release him with a pop, pull back, and bite the inside of his thigh. “No talking unless I ask a question.”
He groans, his hands still at his sides, shaking.
I stand again and guide him onto the edge of the diagnostic table. He sits, his legs apart, his breathing shallow. I climb onto his lap and straddle him.
I kiss him hard—no pretense, no hesitation—while dragging my palm down his chest, my nails grazing skin and circling lightly around his nipple, then down his stomach. He groans into my mouth, his hips twitching under me.
I shift, my hand finding him and guiding his cock with precision to my entrance. I let him feel the slick, hot drag of me as I rock my hips steadily, teasing and letting him feel the friction and heat without giving him everything.
He groans, the sound deep and guttural, then he lifts his hips impatiently, chasing the contact.
“Patience,” I murmur against his lips.
Then I sink down, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside me. The stretch makes me moan, and I feel his shudder against my chest, his breath caught somewhere between restraint and need.
His head tilts back, his mouth open in a silent moan.
I ride him at a steady pace, my hips rolling in a rhythm meant to drive him mad. My nails dig into his shoulders, and his breathing turns ragged.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper.
“You,” he says, his voice guttural. “All of you. Like this. Forever.”
I clench around him, moving with maddening precision, my hips rocking down hard, then slow, keeping him guessing and dragging out every inch. He jerks up into me, slamming hard from below, a desperate rhythm born from need, not control.
I ride him again, slower, more brutal, grinding until the friction forces him to curse under his breath. He tries to stay still, but fails, his hips lifting to meet every thrust like it’s theonly thing anchoring him to his breath. I lean back, my fingers splayed across his chest, watching him fall apart beneath me.
“Don’t come yet,” I warn.
He laughs once, hoarse. “Fuck. Trying.”
I lean in, lick a line up his throat, then bite his jaw. Then I ride him harder now, faster, until the sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, wet and filthy. He’s trembling now, barely holding on.
And then I clamp down around him and grind just right, chasing my climax.
I come first, loud, broken, and pulsing around him.
He follows with a groan that sounds like surrender, his hips jerking as he spills inside me.
And still, I don’t let go.
I clench around him again, milking every last twitch and every last tremor as my nails leave shallow trails down his chest. His breathing stutters and catches. I grind slowly, savoring the last pulsing throb of him inside me, watching his jaw flex with each wave.
I want to feel every echo of what we’ve just done and every shudder of loss in the space between thrust and stillness.
I drag it out until we’re both shaking and breathless, the line between pleasure and ache smeared raw.
Then I reach up and remove the blindfold.
His eyes are blown wide, unfocused, and devastated.
Perfect.
He doesn’t speak for a long time. He just lies there under me, his breath uneven, his hands still fisted like he’s holding onto something invisible. I stay on him, not moving yet, the weight of what just happened settling between us like heat.
His eyes flick to mine, dark and wild. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
I tilt my head slightly. “Giving you what you need.”
