Page 57 of Fragile Lives
“Sh-sh.” I press my finger to his lips, and he bites it.
My smile is evil as I pull on his nipple. “Be quiet, or I’ll stop doing this.”
His grin is so wide, I’m scared his face will break in two. “Yes, ma’am.”
I give him a quick nod of approval and begin trailing the dragon tattoo around his torso, exploring every scale with my tongue. The second it touches his skin, he inhales loudly, and his hands move toward my waist.
“No!” I exclaim loudly, and he drops his hands with a muffled curse.
I dig my hand into his sweats and wrap my fingers around his thick cock. It’s hard and throbbing. The head is weeping with precum. I begin stroking the sensitive skin with my fingers, and his dick jumps.
“Please,” he begs, “I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.”
I thought I wanted him to beg, but as it turns out, I don’t. I don’t like his pleading tone, so I quickly take my pants off and help him pull his off too. While he watches me with wide eyes, I center myself over him.
“Leila—”
“No, you don’t talk. Every time you talk, you think. So just…don’t.” I press my lips to his, and his tongue sneaks out, meeting mine. Just at that, I take his dick in my hand and push it inside me.
He inhales sharply as his eyes roll back. Mine do too.
I knew we’d have unforgettable sex, but I didn’t think it would be so good before we even started. I have to move a few times so I can adjust to his large size.
I open my eyes to look at him and find him watching me, unblinking. His arms by his sides are strained, the veins and muscles popping. His mouth is slightly ajar. Every breath he takes comes out faster and shallower.
“Do you want to put your hands on me?” My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming his name for days.
I didn’t even finish asking before he brings his hands under my ass and pulls me into the air. Rising from the couch, he walks toward the bed, still connected at our cores.
“Can we do it like this?” I ask him before we reach the bed.
His eyes turn bright. A feverish light in them makes me think I asked the wrong question, but the stupid thought lasts for only a second: there are no wrong questions in sex—you can explore anything you want.
“Hold onto me,” he instructs and shifts his hands from my ass to my thighs as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward position, and I almost regret asking until he moves me for the first time.
His palms under my thighs move me up and down his cock, but not like he would do it on the bed. No. He drops me down every time, and I get impaled on his dick with every forceful descent, nearly knocking me unconscious. Every time he hits that spot deep inside me. Too deep. It’s painful. But the pain lasts only a moment, instantly replaced by pleasure. And then it all repeats.
His movements turn needier, the muscles on his neck, arms, and chest more pronounced. The vein on the left side of his neck beats with a crazy speed that matches my own.
Every time I rise up and down, my oversensitive nipples touch the rings on his, making the sensation stronger. I dig my nails into his shoulders, holding onto him and giving him what he likes—a healthy portion of pain.
He starts dropping me onto his cock faster. It hits the spot inside me harder, and after one of the drops, I fall apart. Literally.
I’m a blubbering mess, making incoherent mews of pleasure. I hold onto him, trusting him to carry me somewhere—anywhere—because I can’t even think straight. Wave after wave after wave hits me harder and harder. After impaling my quivering, pliable body onto his hard cock one more time, he starts shivering too. I wrap my arms tighter around his shoulders and start sucking on his neck. His fingers dig into my thighs as he pushes into me a couple more times, and I feel a warm stickiness inside of me, quickly sluicing onto my thighs.
Once the waves of pleasure subside, he shifts his grip, and his hands go back to my ass. He walks me to the bed and falls backward, and I land on top of him. He pulls the comforter over us and tucks me under his armpit. My cheek rests on his hard chest as I throw my arm around his torso.
He lets out a chuckle. “May I speak now?”
I giggle at his question and hide my face in his chest, a little embarrassed.
“Yes, you may,” comes my muffled reply, and his chest shakes in quiet laughter.
“You’re fucked now, Leila.”
I giggle. “I’d say so.”
“No,” his voice is void of any humor, “you’re truly fucked.” He pulls back a little so he can see my face. “You shouldn’t have been so open with this invitation because now I’ll never ever let you go.”
