"That's it, baby," he continues, his tone almost soothing, despite the filth spilling from his lips. "Take my cock. Take all of it."
Baby.
My belly flutters, my heart soaring like a fool even though I know it's a runaway utterance. A thoughtless spi...
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Another scream rips itself from my raw throat, my eyes slamming shut against the piling, cumulative pain.
My latest answer, like all the ones before it, voices both my victory and defeat, but the accompanying blow is especially hard this time, seemingly more punishing than all the others combined.
I try—and fail—to collect myself, swallowing and trying to breathe normally even though I feel like I'm on the verge of hyperventilating from how close he is, his fingers resuming their movements on my bare hip, the fact that my entire lower body is naked, unveiled and open for him to see in spite of the darkness surrounding us.
I inhale his crisp, spicy scent, breathing him in involuntarily, and I feel my treacherous pussy twitch and pulse from the combination of sensations, becoming more and more restless, as if it's asking for more of what happened earlier.
In horror, I realize that my hips just moved without my permission, before I can even think about it or stop myself, my body seeking more of the delicious friction his fingers are teasing me with. He doesn't say anything, and if he noticed, he doesn't give it away. But I'm sure he did. He's too observant and assertive not to. I steel myself against him, against the sensations his fingers are eliciting between my thighs.
I almost choke on my own spit when, almost painfully slow, his fingers trail over the curve of my thigh, and his large hand comes to settle right under my butt cheek, the action almost...natural. As if it's supposed to be there, as if it's done it so many times before.
He laces his fingers through my hair, grabbing a large fist full of the wild, tousled curls at the back of my head, his grip rough yet measured. The action forces my chin up, and the barrier of my glasses offers zero protection against the indescribable intensity in his eyes, against the severe expression that simultaneously mars and enhances his striking features.
I feel the crop at my inner thigh, the blunt edge of the head creeping up the juncture between my legs, settling precariously just mere inches away from the bare folds of my nether lips. Distinct moisture clutches at them; hot, slick liquid smearing and coating my most sensitive flesh as it trickles out. I clench my core muscles involuntarily, but the effort is futile and I feel the unmistakable plop of discharge force its way out.
I have to tear my eyes away from his at the knowledge my body is reacting this way, betraying me.
"You're not quite done yet, Ramona," he says after I go silent for a brief but significant pause. Well...silent save for the erratic wheezing I can't seem to control. "You still have one more to go. What else?"
"I don't know," I lie.
"Sure you do," is his verbal, measured response, but his fingers glide up the side of my hip, the crop still in place between my thighs.
