Page 17 of Wicked God
“God, Olivia,” I groan, my forehead pressing against hers. “You feel incredible.”
Her hips lift to meet mine, urging me to move. I pull back slowly, savoring the way her body clings to me, before thrusting back in with a low growl.
Olivia’s legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper as her hands roam my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her breath comes in short, uneven gasps.
“Don’t stop.”
I don’t plan to.
I set a pace that’s relentless, each stroke driving us both closer to the edge. Her body moves with mine, her hips rising to meet every thrust, her tits bouncing obscenely, her nipples hard and begging for attention. My hands grip her hips like a man possessed, my fingers digging into her soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
Her walls clench around me, milking my cock with every stroke, the sensation so intense it’s almost painful. I circle my hips, grinding into her, hitting that sweet spot deep inside her that makes her scream. Her hands scramble across my shoulders, her nails carving crescent moons into my skin, her eyes locked on mine with a wild, desperate hunger.
“Alex, I’m going to come.”
“I’m going to come too, sweetheart,” I groan, the words barely audible over the sound of her moans. “I’m going to come inside you, Olivia. Pump you so full of my cum you’ll be dripping for days, thinking of nothing but my cock inside you.”
Her response is a guttural sob, her hips bucking wildly against mine. The need to possess her in the most intimate way possible is consuming me, even though my rational mind knows that I’m wearing a condom. My hips move faster, each thrust more powerful than the last, my cock sliding in and out of her with a slick, wet sound.
“Oh, God!” Olivia cries. “Yes, please, fill me! I need it!”
Jesus.
Her words are like gasoline on the fire already burning in my gut. I thrust harder, my cock plunging into her so deep I swear I can feel her cervix bumping against me. The sound of our bodiesslapping together fills the room, wet and obscene, mingling with the symphony of her moans and my groans. Her pussy is a vice, squeezing me tighter and tighter until I can’t hold back anymore.
“Fuck!” My release crashes over me like a tidal wave. My cock pulses violently, shooting thick ropes of cum into the condom buried deep inside her. The sensation is electric, her walls milking me for every drop, her body shuddering as she rides out her own orgasm.
Olivia’s eyes roll back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as she clenches around me as she takes everything I’m giving her.
When it’s over, we collapse together in a heap of sweat-soaked skin and tangled limbs. Olivia’s breath comes in ragged gasps as she tries to recover.
“That was…” she says.
“Life-changing?” I offer with a raised eyebrow.
She swats my chest playfully, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. “Someone’s confident.” Her eyes dance with mischief as she props herself up on one elbow, hair tumbling over her bare shoulder. “But I can’t exactly disagree.”
I catch her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing each fingertip slowly. “Just wait until round two.”
“Oh?” She bites her lower lip, gaze dropping to my mouth. “You’re not finished yet?”
I shake my head, a slow, wicked grin spreading across my lips. “Not even close, sweetheart.”
Chapter 8
Olivia
The sheer curtains allow the first rays of sunlight to filter into the room, bathing it in a warm, golden glow. I stretch under soft Egyptian cotton sheets and wince—every muscle in my body protests, a delicious ache that brings back flashes of last night. Blinking at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, I can’t help but smile. I’ve never felt so thoroughly claimed, so completely undone.
Propping myself up on one elbow, I survey my surroundings. The room looks like a perfect beach getaway—pale blue walls decorated with a watercolor painting of a boat on calm waters, a black-and-white photograph of a couple mid-twirl, and an old clock that ticks in time with the waves outside. Shells collected from morning walks line the nightstand. A forgotten beach novel sits beside them.
I slip out of bed and throw on Alex’s crisp white shirt from yesterday. Barefoot, I tiptoe across cool wooden floors, following the alluring scent of coffee drifting down the hall.
In the kitchen, Alex stands shirtless at the stove, his tan back flexing as he flips a pancake with surprising skill. The scratch marks I left across his shoulders are still visible.
The sight of those muscles working brings back memories of how they felt under my fingertips just hours ago—easily the most mind-blowing night I’ve ever experienced.
Sunlight catches in his tousled hair. He looks like he belongs on a vacation commercial—carefree and perfectly at home.
