Obsessed(77)

He hadn’t forgotten my triggers, the way to lick me and how hard to press his tongue along that bundle of nerves. I buried my fingers into his hair, grinding myself against his mouth until I exploded. I shook, blown apart by the intensity of pleasure that swept me.

Wow, wow, wow!

“Was that a little more?” he asked me, humour alive in his voice.

“No,” I groaned. “A little more.”

Fingers still in his hair, I pulled him back up to me. He went willingly, kissing me hard on the mouth. We fumbled, hungrily tearing apart our clothes. He undressed me quickly, until every inch of me was bare. Then he was kissing at my chin and sucking at my throat hard enough to leave marks behind.

“I missed this,” he groaned, licking feverishly at my lips. “Just kissing you, tasting you. I never had it enough.”

My hands ran down his hard back, over the indentations of muscles I’d never felt before – new ones, I realized – before my palms settled on his ass. I urged him to me, raising my hips to graze against his hard cock.

“More,” I demanded.

“Yeah,” he replied, appreciatively. “More.”

He was urgent. He didn’t tease. He gripped my thighs, spreading them apart to accommodate his body. His cock nudged at my entrance, rubbing up and down my slickness, coating himself with me. Then he pushed into me in one long swift thrust. We moaned at the same time, and he paused for several moments, his cock twitching inside me. It felt so good. I’d forgotten how good.

I was tight, or maybe he was too big. I didn’t know. I just knew there wasn’t an inch of him I wasn’t hugging. I felt pulsing tingles sweep me at the stillness.

“Aston,” I breathed, struggling under the weight of him, wanting him to move.

He exhaled deeply, kissing me languidly without moving his hips. “I tried staying away, El.”

“I don’t want to hear that. I just want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you.”

I forced him to look at me as I demanded, “Not slow, Aston. I need it hard, okay?”

He didn’t respond. He just breathed softly, considering my words. Then he moved. Gripping me to him so there wasn’t an inch of my body he wasn’t touching, his rhythm was relentless and constant. It was hard and powerful, the strokes hitting my walls every time he slammed inside me. He bit at my lip and fucked me to heaven. My god, was he always this damn good? The release was explosive and instant. I clawed at his back as it hit me. He swallowed my cries and continued with his deep, pounding thrusts.

“I want another one,” he whispered as he moved, grunting and squeezing at my flesh. “I want to feel you tightening around me again, El.”

Then he moved out of me and turned me around. He gripped my hips and pulled me up on my knees. A breath later, his cock slammed back into me. I inhaled sharply, my mouth gaping open against the pillow as he went on. This position was sweet agony, and I soared.

He moved faster than before, faster than I could keep up with. It was the kind of hard I needed. That punishing rhythm hit a chord within me. He tended to that wounded, deprived part of me that begged for pain; that begged to feel him even long after he was gone. It was so good…so fucking good, another orgasm ripped through me. I fisted the sheets as I rode it out, shaking into the mattress that would smell like us come morning.

“Shit, El,” he rasped behind me, stopping suddenly. He groaned behind me, and I felt his cock jerk and warmth spread.

He collapsed on top of me and wrapped his arm around my body, pulling me to him. He kissed me on the head, neck and shoulders. He kissed down my spine, ass, and down my legs. He kissed me like he was appreciating every single inch of me.

When he was finished touching my every curve, he rested back up the mattress, and I turned to him so that we were side by side, staring at one another. With sated smiles, we lost ourselves in each other’s gazes.

“Why are there scratches all over your body?” he asked me after some time.

“I fell down the stairs at school yesterday,” I lied.

His fingers were back on me again, tracing along my neck, shoulders, and along the fresh scratches on my arm. “Where’s Mom?”

“Is she not in her room?”

“No, her car’s not out front.”

“I don’t know where she is. She comes and goes as she pleases.”

“Is she any better?”

“No.”

“Are you two at odds?”

“I’m not at odds with her. At the same time, she doesn’t bother with me, and your silence hasn’t helped make it any better.” I said that more harshly than I’d have liked. It couldn’t be helped. I had a lot of aggression left in me.