Page 165 of Blood & Throttle
But then Riot moves. Fast.
He shifts, rising from where he was sprawled beside me on the bed. The mattress dips, then lifts as he stands, towering over me. He steps back just enough to grab my hips, dragging me to the edge. My head tilts over the side, lips parted, throat exposed—offered up like a fucking sacrifice.
“You want to play?” His voice is rough, thick with need. “Then open that pretty mouth and take it.”
I do.
He slides into me, slow at first, then deeper, watching my eyes as he begins to thrust. One hand fists my hair, the other cradles my jaw—not cruel, but possessive, controlling. His hips move with lethal intent, fucking my mouth with unrelenting rhythm.
“Look at you,” he groans. “Taking it so well.”
His voice vibrates in my ears. I’m soaked. Aching. Shorts already discarded somewhere on the floor. My thighs press together, desperate for friction as he drives into my mouth.
And he knows it.
His free hand trails down between my legs. Fingers slip between folds slick with want, teasing, stroking. He groans when he feels how wet I am.
“This what you wanted?” he growls, voice thick and low. “My cock down your throat, fingers buried in your soaked little pussy while you fall apart for me?”
I moan around him in answer, throat full, eyes watering, but I don’t stop. Neither does he.
“Good girl,” he mutters, thrusting deeper into my mouth. “That’s it, baby, take it. You’re fuckin’ perfect like this.”
His fingers curl inside me, stroking that spot that makes me see stars.
“God, you're so fucking wet,” he grits. “Such a good little stray, letting me use your mouth while I make you come.”
My thighs tremble. I can’t hold still. The coil snaps so fast and hard it punches the breath from my lungs. I sob around him as I cum again, body arching, hips bucking up into his hand.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, slowing just enough to let me ride it out. “So fucking beautiful when you break for me.”
Only then does he pull out of my mouth, chest heaving, jaw tight.
“Get on top,” he says, rough and commanding. “Now. Ride me like you mean it.”
I climb over him and line myself up, dragging the head of his cock through my slick and sensitive folds. Then I sink down, inch by inch, my mouth falling open as he fills me.
Jesus fuck.
We both moan.
He’s deep. Stretching. Perfect.
I start to move, slow at first, rolling my hips, grinding in tight circles that make him curse under his breath. His hands clamp down on my hips, guiding me, letting me take what I need.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls. “Just like that.”
I ride him harder, chasing another high, my hands braced on his chest. His muscles flex under me, his hips jerking up to meet mine. When I cum again, it’s a white-hot wave that rips through me, and I collapse forward, forehead against his.
But Riot’s not done.
He grabs my ass, fingers digging in, and flips us fast. My breath catches as I land on my hands and knees, bare and open beneath him. Then he slams into me from behind—deep and unrelenting—and I cry out, arching hard as the bed groans beneath us.
“I’m not letting you stop there,” he growls behind me, voice rough with need, with possession. His fingers grip my hips so tight it borders on bruising. “You’re gonna take every fucking drop.”
“Then fuck me, Carter,” I gasp, panting, already shaking again. “Fill me up. Let me feel it.”
He does.
