Page 52 of Auctioned for Her Blood
“Still okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Very.” I don’t want this to end, not ever. Even though I’m sore, if anything, my climax amplified my desire. As magnificent and luxurious as his long, slow thrusts feel, my body craves more friction. Craves the feeling of his power dominating my body, controlling my senses, my mind, completely.
“Want to try something a little more adventurous?” he asks.
“Yes. Anything. Everything.”
Again his eyes darken and fear shoots inside me.What did I say?My inner muscles tighten, as if questioning my boldness and making a futile attempt to hold him still. But my slight fear of this man, this man who claims he’s a vampire, only seems to boost my desire, and instead of clamping down on him, my vagina—my cunt—involuntarily starts to massage him, as if it knows these tricks by instinct, and my juices build, my appetite for him growing.
His cock still buried deep inside me, Ryker walks us toward the window. Then, manipulating me like a rag doll, he lifts me off his cock and turns me to face out. As soon as my feet touch down, he pulls back my hips and drives into me hard from behind.
My hands slam against the glass to stop my head from going through the pane, but I realize there was no risk of that. He’s got a tight grip on me, one hand on my shoulder, the other around my hips.
Our reflections shine back from the window, against the backdrop of lights of the city, and he slides in and out of me slowly, gently. Although this penetration from behind feels even deeper, almost too deep at first, I soon find myself pushing back to meet each long thrust, loving how I can affect the depth, make his strikes harder or softer depending on whether I rock with or against him.
I’m just getting used to this position, when his foot nudges one of mine farther to the side, spreading me open and putting me off balance.
His hands land on my breasts to catch me.
I can’t even reach the glass anymore and any pretext of controlling the thrusts’ depths has vanished. I’m completely dependent on him for support now, and he holds me where he wants me, kneading my breasts, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs as his cock slowly pumps.
Our reflection is clear in the window, and I love looking at him behind me, hoping I can make eye contact, but his eyes are closed tight, his face strained. Either he’s about to climax, or he’s once again holding back.
The answer to my unspoken question comes.
His drives surge to new heights—or I should say depths and speeds—and the force steals my ability to think or to see or to hear or to feel anything beyond his cock pounding inside me.
I can’t think of words to describe how quickly he’s slamming into my body now. And when I manage to open my eyes and glimpse our reflection in the window, I can’t even see that he’s moving.
Vampires can move too quickly for the human eye, he told me. He looks still, but my body tells an entirely different story than my eyes.
The friction inside me is overwhelming, and so is the heat on my nipples as his thumbs flick over them. I can’t see his fingers moving either but I sure feel them. Boy how I feel them. Over and over he drives inside me as he squeezes my breasts and abrades my tight nipples, and I gasp for air, unable to find the space to breathe.
My chest rises as he straightens my body. His drives lift my feet off the floor and he holds me aloft from behind, supporting my entire body weight with his hands on my breasts. And while I can’t even see us moving in the reflection, I can certainly feel that we are, feel it in our other point of connection, my weight supported by his cock deep inside me as he continues to thrust with incomprehensible force and speed.
He slows to a point where I can see him moving—but still so quickly. Over and over he pulls his hips back as his hands on my breasts lift me, and then he slams me back down to meet his hard thrust. I’m like a rag doll, a toy he’s controlling, but I don’t mind, I don’t mind one bit.
A deep moan rumbles from his chest, moving deliciously through me, and his thrusts slow again. But he’s still moving faster than I thought a man could physically move, definitely penetrating me more than once per second, but I can fully see the act now, and the visuals heighten my desire.
I’ve never seen or imagined anything so sexy as Ryker holding me aloft as if I weigh nothing, manipulating me, using me, his powerfully strong body pumping me over his hard thick rod, holding my breasts, flicking my nipples as he drives his huge cock inside me.
Stepping forward, he presses my chest against the glass and one of his hands slides down my torso to land on my clit.
My hips buck back, and his mouth closes over my shoulder, his teeth scraping, but not biting, his tongue licking as he sucks on my flesh.
Then his drives slow even more, luxuriously sliding inside me so that each one takes an eternity compared to before. One hand pinches my nipple lightly as the other mirrors that action on my clit.
I writhe against his squeezing of my clit and nipple, my hips’ small involuntary actions the only illusion of movement I can control, as I remain trapped between the window and the force of his massive, strong body. I’m held off the floor by his hand and his cock, fully controlled by the pain and pleasure of his simultaneous pinches, both harder now and turning painful. Every nerve in my body is now focused on those two hard points under his unrelenting pressure.
He lifts his lips from my shoulder, leaving my skin feeling damp and hot. “You’re going to come now,” he growls against my ear, and the pressure of his pinching loosens slightly.
“Wha—?” The word doesn’t even escape my lips before another colossal orgasm strikes, its explosions radiating from my sex to detonate in every part of my body. All the blood that rushed to meet his pinching is now flowing everywhere else.
I know the French call orgasms the little death, and I understand why. I feel certain I won’t survive this intact. I can no longer see, no longer hear, I can’t breathe. My toes, still off the ground, curl, and my back fights to curl too, fighting against his hold, my head slamming back against his chest as his fingers continue to expertly draw out my climax, rubbing and pinching both my nipple and my clit in some kind of torturous composition. This man is a maestro with my body, knowing exactly how to draw out the very best and biggest performance from deep inside of me.
And my orgasm continues, less intense now, but wave upon wave of contractions continue for so long I can barely remember how my sex organs feel when they aren’t convulsing.
My body goes limp, turns to mush as Ryker continues to push himself slowly inside me, and I barely notice when he slides out, turning me and lifting me into his arms.
