Page 80 of His Nephew's Ex
A flicker of mischief spreads across her pretty face, and then she does the most perverse thing imaginable: she spreads her cheeks, offering herself to me completely. An act no one else has seen or tasted or imagined.
I roar with a savage, needy hunger, driving into her, tearing through her, shoving inside her like a conquering captain claiming wild territory.
“Fuck,” she moans. “Harder. Harder.”
And I do.
I take what I want.
What I own.
What I no longer know how to live without.
Time dissolves like sugar in water. Space becomes only need, only movement, only the clap of her round rear against my hips and thighs as the whole of her milks me and releases, milks me and releases. She grips the headboard for support, but themomentum of my hammering drives her toward it with each thrust, knocking her brain until the only words she knows are her beloved husband’s name and the prayers that follow.
“You. Are. Mine.” I punctuate each syllable with brutal power, and each blow renders her tighter and hotter and emptier.
Mine.
She is mine, and I am hers.
She could end me at any moment, and I wouldn't even fight it. I want her to own me just as much as I want to own her completely. I want to know her in ways no one else can. To truly understand her. Own her. Remind her that we don’t just see each other for who we’ve always been, but for the impossible things we could become together.
“Faster,” she says with ragged pleasure. “Oh, yes, please.”
I shift my hips and drive deeper, setting the angle of entry exactly how I need it. Thrusting myself into a point of undeniable, merciless perfection.
Her walls grip and beg. Her knees melt a little, and I guide her down to the sheets.
I fold over her back and lick her neck and her earlobe. Nip her with my teeth. And never—not once—stop the steady, hungryrhythm of my body bucking and riding and throwing her toward the release she’ll find alone or not at all.
“Ohhh,” she sighs. “Oh.”
And then, unbidden, new and terrifying, my heartbeat merges with hers.
Like an unexpected hand on the inside of my spine, a chill races from my shoulders down, down, down, past spine and center and into my balls. Past control. Past anything that looks like me.
I moan and crush myself against her, willing the flood of imminent pleasure. Willing it with abandon. Wanting it to save me from collapsing into a tangle of pleasure-wracked threads that won’t come back together again.
The climax sears my vision, blotting her out and returning a millisecond later when I roar into her back. She holds me. Encircles me with every ounce of strength left in her dainty fingers. Buckles down and takes me. Fills up and drinks me. Doesn’t miss a drop.
“Simeone.”
“Stellina.”
She flips. Quick as a snake, her limbs coil around me. Her face is wet and flushed and raw with bliss. Before the last shudder passes, she’s pulling me back to her. Seeking. Demanding.
“Be careful what you ask for,” I tease.
“Simeone, I have earned it.”
The words do something primal, wild, fucking mad inside me. I roll, pulling her on top of me. Resting a fist on each hip bone and then tugging her down over me. Her eager slit enfolds the tip of my cock, welcoming and aching, and I guide her toward her own final, magnificent end.
The climb starts slowly. The movement is all hers, guided by my fingertips and occasional gentle smacks against the lovely swell of her right hip.
“Look at me.”
She obeys. Her face contorts into a mask of beauty and pure, agonizing pleasure.
