Page 142 of SINS & Riley
His hands grip my ass, dragging me closer, grinding me against the thick length of him. The blunt head of his cock circles my entrance, and for a split second I can’t breathe.
He’s so… big.
My wetness glistens over his tip as he rubs it.
“I’m not sure I can hold back,” he rasps against my throat.
“Don’t,” I whisper, nails dragging down his back.
And he doesn’t.
He slams into me with a thrust so good, so fevered, so fucking impatient my whole world tilts sideways.
And for a long moment, we just breathe as he lets me adjust to the size of him.
The next thrust is brutal, but he finds a rhythm, pounding into me, every stroke deeper, rougher, merciless.
My body scrambles to take all of him, every inch. I’m teetering at the breaking point when I hear him.
“Come for me,” he commands.
And, damn, I do.
My climax rips through me—so violent, so fucking unstoppable—just as his thick, punishing cock drives deeper.
I shatter, and he does too. His head tips back, voice breaking rough and raw.
“Yes. Fucking yes.”
For a long while, we’re nothing but ragged pants and desperate grips, clinging to each other like the world might end.
And with how loud we were, maybe it did and we just haven’t noticed yet.
When I finally drift back down, pant by pant, he’s still there—kissing, praising, coaxing the fire out of me until I’m nothing but sparks and shivers in his hands.
“Good girl.”
Silent fingers trail along my neck, his gaze locking with mine. Eyes hidden behind the mask.
I’m still gasping when I manage, “How many masks do you own?”
“Enough to keep me stocked for a lifetime.”
My throat tightens. “When will you let me see you without it?”
He mouths his way across my lips, down my chin, grazing my shoulder, each kiss a promise and a denial all at once.
“Soon.”
“Really?” I whisper.
“You won’t have this baby without seeing who I am,” he promises.
The consolation of his words hits me raw. I deadpan, “So I won’t see your face for nine months?”
“Seven months and thirteen days.”
He says it like he’s clocked the exact moment of conception. And even without math, I know—he’s right.
