Tension shot through her limbs, and that tight, achy desire for more intensified. He stroked her gently then pushed in another, stretched her with the girth of his fingers. She shifted her hips, torn between a moment of pleasure and of something else.
“Get used to it, baby, because this is nothing compared to what you’ve got coming.”
He pressed up and she nearly flew off the couch. Raw sensation racked her. She panted, hands moving to her hair.
“Easy,” he whispered and rested his other hand on her abdomen, holding her in place. Then he moved again, moved with deliberate strokes, caressed her more intimately than should be possible. He started out slowly, pushing into her firmly then sliding back out. Bone-deep pleasure mounted with every movement. Then he changed tactics, as if what he’d just done to her had been only a warm-up.
He pressed down on her pubic bone and stroked her bud with his thumb then pushed higher and harder inside her. She grasped at her hair, arching her back, her chest heaving, body humming. He thrust deep—fast—on a mission to destroy her with sex.
Exquisite agony. The only words for it. Pleasure so bad it hurt. Like nothing she’d ever felt had been real until now.
His thumb slid over and around her, intensifying every tightening pulse in her core. She tossed her head. Too much… Too much to process, too much to bear. She’d break. He jutted against that place, that place she hadn’t believed in but could not now deny.
“Fuck, Connor, please.” Her voice sounded strange and high pitched. She shook, her shoulders trembled against leather.
The fingers inside her gentled. No that’s not what she needed. She wanted more, harder, his thumb moving faster—that’s what she needed.
“No, baby, no coming yet. You got to earn that.”
His words were husky, almost as raw as she felt. He withdrew from her slowly. She cried out and tried to grasp his arm. He moved out of reach.
She sagged against the sofa, fighting the urge to sob with need. Sweat gathered at her hairline.
Then he did the one thing that could distract her from her own body.
He revealed the rest of his.
Connor removed his pants, kicked the pile of black fabric across the floor. Her labored breathing stilled and she snapped up straight. His hands rested by his sides. Next to…the hottest cock she’d ever seen. Her wet, aching pussy clenched.
“Kneel,” he instructed.
The only word he needed to say and she was on her knees in front of him. Reaching for that smooth pink cock.
He grasped the back of her hair, halting her. “No, baby, you get what I give you.” He gripped the base of his cock—so freaking perfect in its symmetry it should be patented. Thick shaft—thick enough it might just push the boundaries of comfort—and swollen pink head. His cock called to her, made her want to take it into her body any way she could.
“Mouth open.”
She opened her lips and looked up at him. Dark blue veins corded their way up his arms. His jaw ticked. He couldn’t hide his arousal any more than he could hide the strength of his erection. He wanted her. She made him this way.
His gaze locked on hers. “You’ll need to do better if you want me to feed you this cock.”
She opened wider, stretched her tongue out. He groaned and guided the mushroomed head of his cock into her mouth. The silky skin of his crown slid across her tongue. The earthy taste of him made her tremble. He filled her mouth, made her stretch her jaw as he pushed deeper. He overwhelmed her. Hard flesh in her mouth, his taste, his scent—the intimate, musky scent of a man.
She wrapped her lips around him and sucked hard. The grip in her hair became a caress but he maintained control with his cock. Forced a little more of himself on her each time then took it away—only to give more—more cock, more of his salty skin and the distinct smell of him that enslaved her.
Her hands roamed to his thighs, touching, stroking, kneading her way closer to the hand he still used to hold himself. She wanted to be the one to hold him—to devour him—to make him feel. His fingers massaged her scalp.
“That’s it, baby, suck me.”
His heavy sac brushed her hand and she moved to it, cupping and measuring its weight in her palm. He groaned and thrust into her mouth, far enough to challenge her gag reflex. But she took him in, didn’t gag, forced her muscles to comply, take whatever he chose to give her. He grasped her hand and let it replace the one he’d used to hold his shaft, let her fingers curl around his girth then covered her hand with his. She stroked him with her fist while taking him with her mouth.
Her fingers only held half of him. She squeezed her thighs and rocked her hips, her body responding to the idea of this great big thing inside her. It made sense he’d be big. No man strutted like he did without having the goods to back it up. And he had them, had enough to justify his arrogance and then some.