Play Along(78)

I pant to try and deal with his claiming.

“Let me fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”

He slowly slides out and drives back home in one deep pump.

We both groan.

Oh dear God. This is Bad Boy Heaven in all its glory.

He slides in and out, again and again.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, my body finally loosens and the sensation turns to enjoyment. As if sensing the exact moment I begin to enjoy it, he smacks my behind. “That’s it, baby, ride me home.”

He lifts my hips and starts to take what he wants, deep hard pumps with his fingers just at the right tempo into my sex.

I have never felt something so naughty, so forbidden, and so fucking good in all of my life.

He pinches my clit between his fingers and I nearly go through the roof.

“Oh, yeah,” he purrs in a deep guttural growl. “You feel so fucking good. This ass. This beautiful fucking ass.”

Our bodies slap together and I’m close… Oh God. This orgasm is going to be so strong, it’s going to hurt.

He slaps me hard on the behind again and it’s the smart of the slap and the depth of his cock that sends me spiralling over the edge. I fall forward as my body convulses, and I scream out face down into my pillow.

He picks up the pace and pumps me hard and fast and my legs turn to jelly.

I can’t… I can’t take any more.

Hard and deep. Hard and deep… so hard and deep.

He grabs my hipbones and slams brutally to stay buried deep inside. I feel the deep jerk of his cock. “Oh… Rosh,” he calls.

He slowly slides in and then back out, and I stay still with my face buried deep into the pillow.

Holy fucking shit. What was that?

He eventually pulls me back and sits me up on his lap and kisses me over my shoulder. His kiss is tender and caring.

I fall back on his chest with my head on his shoulder as I look up at the ceiling, panting, breathless, and completely overwhelmed. My heart is beating so fast. He is still deep inside me and his lips are worshipping every inch of my face.

His words come back to me about me being his.

“When did I become yours?” I whisper into the darkness.

He kisses me gently over my shoulder, his lips tenderly claiming mine. This is the most intimate sex I have ever had. I feel so… cherished.

Sexual perfection.

He slides out and lays me down on my back, rips his condom off, and crawls over me again. My legs wrap around his waist and my arms around his broad shoulders. His hair falls messily over his forehead as he looks down at me. “When you came back for me on the ship,” he murmurs.

I smile and he kisses me softly.

“When did you become mine?” I whisper up at him.

He kisses me again, his tongue slowly moving against mine. The feeling behind it nearly brings me to tears. “When I couldn’t leave you tonight.”

Our eyes are locked and, unable to help myself, I say the words I know I shouldn’t.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” I whisper.

He smiles sexily. “I kind of hoped you were.” His lips take mine as he slides his slick body back into my sex.

I smile into his lips. This guy is going to be the death of me.

“Legs up, baby.” He growls. “I need to fuck my girl.”

“Didn’t you just do that?” I pant.

“I’m just warming up.”







There are three cardinal rules that any self-respecting woman should adhere to if she is going to acquire any hand in her relationship—and by hand,

I mean upper.

Rule number one: never let him fuck you up the ass without asking.

Rule number two: never say the words I love you first while still drunk on an orgasm high.

Rule number three: never sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch him shower with love heart-shaped eyes.

It’s just plain embarrassing because, right now, at this minute, I am the world’s biggest One Direction fan and Harry fucking Styles is in my shower.

He knows it, too. His eyes occasionally flicker up to meet mine as he rubs the soap all over his muscular physique.

“Get in with me.” He smirks.

“No, I’m happy watching the show.” I smile.

His huge, tanned body fills the shower, and his dark, trimmed pubic hair is the focal point of the masterpiece. He is manicured all over and everything is where it should be. Muscles, dick, hair, tatts… those naughty but nice dimples.

I’m totally screwed.

Stace Williams is a piece of art. He’s valuable and adored by any woman who is lucky enough to ever experience the pleasure he bestows upon them.

I feel grateful that I have had the opportunity to meet him, to touch him, to have had him touch me, and I wonder if we hadn’t been locked in a room together if we would ever have had our connection. Would he have even looked my way? I wonder what kind of women he normally pursues out in the real world.