Page 142 of Lost Then Found
I smile darkly. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You want more?”
She groans, forehead pressing to the headboard, her knuckles white where she clings to it.
“Need you,” she pants. “Need you to fuck me.”
I slam into her in one brutal thrust—deep and to the hilt—and holy fuck, she clamps down around me so tight my knees almost give out.
“Jesus,” I grit, my breath catching. “You feel fucking insane. So perfect.”
She moans, back arching, pushing against me like she’s trying to take me deeper—even though I’m already buried in her, balls-deep and barely holding on.
“Again,” she gasps. “Don’t hold back.”
My hand slides up her spine, grabs a fistful of her hair, and yanks her head back just enough to arch her even more—spine curved, tits forward, ass perfect and round and begging to be bruised.
“Not scared I’ll break you?” I murmur against her ear.
She shakes her head, mouth falling open.
I slam into her again—hard enough to shake the bed, hard enough to make her cry out—and it only makes her fuck me back harder. Grinding. Taking it like it’s the only thing she’s ever needed.
I grab her hips, use my weight, and own every thrust. The slap of skin on skin echoes off the walls, filthy and fast. Wet and obscene.
“Please,” she gasps, voicecracking.
I slide one hand to her throat, wrap it gently—not choking, just pressure, just possession—while the other keeps her hips pinned to me. Her pulse slams under my palm.
“You love it like this, don’t you?” I snarl in her ear, my breath hot against her cheek. “Bent over, dripping, stretched so fucking full you can’t think.”
She gasps—wrecked and wild—and nods, words failing her.
I press deeper, my cock buried to the base, and roll my hips, grinding right against that spot that makes her cry out. She cups a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, like she suddenly remembered our twelve-year-old is asleep right down the hall.
I slide my fingers between her thighs and stroke her clit—slow, dirty circles that make her sob into the pillows.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I growl. “Say it.”
“You,” she breathes. “I’m yours—I’m fucking yours, Boone—”
“That’s right, baby. No one else gets this. No one gets to see you fall apart like this.”
She clenches around me, tighter, her body drawing me in like it knows I belong there.
And then I press my palm low over her stomach—right where I’m deep inside her—and say, “You feel that? That’s me. All of me.”
Her legs give out. She starts to collapse, but I don’t let her. I wrap one arm tight around her chest, holding her up, still fucking her deep, still circling her clit with precision.
“Fuck—I—Boone—I’m gonna—” Her voice breaks, wrecked beyond recognition.
“Come for me,” I growl against her throat. “Let me feel that perfect little pussy.”
She shatters.
Her body goes rigid, back arching like she’s been struck by lightning—mouth falling open, no sound at first, just a silent, desperate gasp—before her moan tears out of her, rough and ruined and all fucking mine.
She pulses around me, legs shaking, back arched, milking every inch of me with every wave of her orgasm.
And I don’t stop.
