Page 40 of No Words
Heat surges through me, overbearing and possessive. I pull her against me, my mouth claiming hers with an intensity that surprises us both. She yields immediately, melting into me, her surrender as complete as my claim.
I press her back against the mattress, my weight pinning her beneath me. Her legs part instinctively, wrapping around my hips as I hover above her. The heat of her core against me is almost unbearable, even through my clothes. I growl low in my throat and capture her mouth again, teeth grazing her lower lip.
“Say it,” I demand, voice barely recognizable. “I need to hear you say it.”
She holds my gaze, fiercely determined. “I choose this,” she tells me. “I choose you.”
Those words snap the last thread of my restraint. I strip away what remains of her clothing, then my own, movements urgent and almost harsh. When I eventually feel her skin against mine, the contact is electric. Soft curves against hard angles. Lightning shoots through me in perfect contrast to our bodies.
I force myself to slow down despite the urge to claim her immediately. This might be our last night. I want to memorize her.
My hands map her body with deliberate pressure, the delicate slope of her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts, the surprising strength in her arms. I learn what makes her gasp, what makes her arch toward me. When my mouth finds her breast, I alternate between gentle and rough, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing with my tongue, then sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. The sound that escapes her throat is half pleasure, half plea. The vibration travels straight through me.
Her hands aren’t idle, exploring me with equal hunger, trailing down my chest, nails scraping lightly over my abdomen, fingers wrapping around my length with surprising boldness. I hiss at the contact, fighting for control.
“Not yet,” I murmur, capturing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “My turn first.”
My free hand traces down her stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath my touch. Lower still until I find her wet and needy. The evidence of her hunger for me is intoxicating. I explore her with careful attention, circling, stroking, finding the rhythm and pressure that makes her breath catch and her hips rise to meet my touch.
“Cole,” she gasps, straining against my grip on her wrists.
I increase the pressure, the pace, watching her as pleasure builds. Her eyes half-closed but still locked on mine, lips parted, cheeks flushed. When I slip one finger inside her, then another, she arches off the bed, a wordless plea for more. I oblige, curling my fingers to find the spot that makes her thighs tremble, my thumb continuing its relentless rhythm against her clit.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, fingers digging into my shoulders.
She whimpers when I withdraw my fingers. Instead, I take my cock and slide it up and down her slit, gathering her wetness. I lean forward and spit onto her center, spreading it along the length of my cock. I line up at her entrance. When I finally push inside her, we both freeze for a moment at the intensity. Her body yields to mine perfectly, as if made for this connection. Then I move, setting a rhythm that has her clutching at my back, nails leaving crescents in my skin that I’ll wear proudly tomorrow.
I grip her hips hard, angling her body to take me deeper. Each thrust is a claim, each mark I leave on her skin a declaration. Mine. My teeth find the sensitive juncture whereher neck meets her shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark that will linger for days.
“Eyes on me,” I command, my voice low but unmistakably authoritative. “I want to see you when you come for me.”
She obeys instantly, her gaze locking with mine. The immediate compliance floods me with dark satisfaction. She responds to every command as if she were born for this.
“Good girl,” I praise, noting how the words make her pupils dilate, her inner muscles tighten around me. The praise kink is undeniable, something to explore more thoroughly when we have time.
I establish a rhythm designed to build her pleasure while maintaining my control. Each thrust is deliberate, angled to hit exactly where she needs it most. I gauge her reactions carefully, noting every gasp, every flutter of her eyelids, learning precisely what drives her wild.
“You don’t come until I give you permission,” I tell her, my tone making it clear this isn’t a request. “Understand?”
“Yes,” she gasps, struggling to maintain eye contact as her pleasure builds.
“Yes, what?” I prompt, slowing my movements deliberately.
“Yes...” she manages.
I shake my head slightly, applying light pressure to her throat with my thumb and forefinger, not restricting her breathing, just a reminder of my control.
“Try again.”
Her eyes widen with understanding. “Yes, Cole.”
“Perfect,” I murmur, rewarding her with increased tempo. “Such a good girl for me.”
The praise makes her moan, her body responding beautifully to the combination of physical stimulation and verbal approval. I can see her fighting to obey my command, struggling to hold back her release as tension builds in her body.
I lean down, my teeth finding the delicate curve of her neck. I bite down just hard enough to leave an outline, a visible reminder of my claim that she’ll see tomorrow when the others are around.
Her nails score my back, marking me in return. The pain sharpens my focus, heightens every sensation. I reach between us, my fingers finding her sensitive bundle of nerves, applying precise pressure.
