Page 145 of Seven Lost Summers
He groans. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet.”
He holds himself there for a beat. Long enough to make me ache, to make me beg again if he wanted. His cock teases the swollen entrance of my pussy, the tip nudging in enough to tease me with the stretch.
“You want this?” he asks, voice filthy. “You want my cock again?”
“Yes,” I breathe out.
He slams into me.
There’s no easing in.
No building up.
Only the brutal thrust of his cock filling me in one hard, unforgiving drive.
My whole body jolts forward. My breath leaves me in a broken scream.
He fucks me hard. The sound of skin on skin is deafening. Wet. Loud. Feral.
He leans forward, slipping his arm tight around my stomach, lifting me in one smooth, brutal motion. My back crashes against his chest, slick with sweat, his skin burning against mine. His cock never leaves me. He’s still buried, fucking me hard. I gasp, head falling back onto his shoulder as he forces me upright on his cock, speared open and held there like I belong to him.
His breath fans hot against the shell of my ear, as his hand slides around, rough and possessive, gripping the front of my throat. Not enough to hurt, enough to claim. To make sure I know I’m his.
“You’ve already come,” he growls in my ear. “Now I’m gonna take what I fucking need.”
He thrusts up, hard and deep, and I moan so loud it tears from my throat raw. My hands scramble for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing—only him. Only this. His cock slamming into me again and again with a pace that’s feral and possessive. No rhythm, no mercy, nothing but pure, filthy intent.
“I swear to God,” he hisses against my ear, fucking me harder. “You come again before I do, and I’ll bend you over and start all over again.”
He shifts behind me. His legs spread wider, his thrusts deeper now, grinding into the place that makes my entire body seize up. His hand stays locked at my throat, not choking, but holding, owning, reminding me that I’m his to use.
My moans are helpless and broken. There’s no pride left in me. No shame. Only need.
His breath scorches the shell of my ear, each brutal thrust tearing a sound from my throat, a half-moan, half whimper.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “Fucked out. All from my cock.”
His hand slides from my throat, trailing down to my chest. He grabs my breast hard, his palm rough, his fingers pinching my nipple. I cry out, the sting blurring with the pleasure building from the inside.
“You love this,” he whispers. “You love being used. Being mine. Say it.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck, yes.”
He laughs behind me. “Good girl.”
He thrusts into me again, harder, deeper, driving everything else out of my mind. Over and over, I’m falling and he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
His body presses tighter against mine, his skin slick with sweat, his breath dragging ragged across the side of my neck. Every thrust rocks me forward, my breath catching, my thoughts scattering.
His hand moves lower, skimming down my stomach, lighting every nerve on fire.
I can’t breathe or think.
My thighs are wide open, aching, slick, trembling. I should care, should be embarrassed by how much I want him. But I’m not. I want him deeper. I want him to tear the rest of me apart.
“You’re shaking. Fucking desperate. Say it.” He growls into my ear, voice thick with need. “Say your cock filled pussy wants to fucking come again.”
And I can’t deny it. Not with the way my body is already unraveling again. Not with the way he knows exactly how to break me open and keep going until I forget my own name.
