Page 93 of Powerless
I watch him run his cock all over my pussy. Fisting it firmly. Teasing me with the tip. Pushing it in, watching my body stretch for him, and pulling it back out.
“You want me to fuck you, Sloane?”
“Yesss,” I hiss out.
He lifts his thick cock up and slaps it back down lewdly on my wet core. “Ask politely.”
“You’ve got some nerve, Gervais,” I say, going hot all over.
He quirks a brow as if to say,Go on.And I didn’t make it this far to back down now, so without hesitation I say, “Yes,please.”
My entire body is one huge heartbeat. Just a pulse covered by desperate flesh. I’ve never felt so wanton and I’ve never felt so desired.
Like we’re two opposite ends of a magnet, there’s no resisting the pull. There are forces beyond us at work now, and we’re at their mercy.
Maybe it’s science.
Maybe it’s fate.
But when Jasper slides himself inside me and murmurs with a playful smile, “Such a polite girl,” all I know is that it’sright.
We’re right.
My lashes flutter down as I struggle to accommodate his size. My legs shake as they wrap around his waist and latch together over his firm ass.
His hands start on my thighs and slide sensually up over every curve while he’s seated inside of me. Fingers pulse over my breasts, and his hips shove forward even though he’s as far in as he can get. His arms wrap around my rib cage, and he pulls me up to him, hands splaying possessively over my back as the fullness inside me shifts.
“Jasper, it’s too much,” I murmur, dropping my forehead against his chest.
He plants a kiss against my hair and pulls out, like he’s going to grant me some reprieve. His head drops beside my ear, and he whispers, “You can take it,” right before driving back in.
“Oh god!” I call out as he works himself in and out. Not too fast, but not too slow. Every movement is measured—controlled—and with him,of course,it is.
His career.
His mental game.
His protective streak.
His trauma.
It all makes so much sense.
“Fuck, Jasper!” I gasp as he works me over. He kisses me hard. He brings me to the edge and pulls us both back. I let him take care of me the way he needs to, and I revel in it. I trust him so implicitly. It comes so easily.
I bask in his attention, in the way his hands move over my skin, the way his lips fit so perfectly against mine, the way he chants my name in my ear as he moves against me. Hips slamming roughly making a slapping noise against my ass for several seconds before easing off and rendering me senseless with slow, deep strokes that keep the pressure in my core building in the most delicious way.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight.”
It feels like I’m riding waves in the ocean, my body soft and relaxed, the white noise of water tumbling in my ears accompanied by his deep, rumblings of worship.
My body feels more his than mine, and I’m entirely at peace with that notion.
I can feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of him inside me. And it makes me wild. I scratch at him, my nails raking against his back. Urging him to give me more. I bite at him. I’m downright feral with my need for him.
“Closer. Deeper. More,” I beg, and he gives me everything I ask for and more. Eyes always coming back to mine, watching me so damn closely. Cataloguing every little motion, every gasp of pleasure.
Learning me as I learn him.
