“Yes,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “More.”
Balancing her in my lap, I maneuvered until I was sitting up, my back against the headboard as I shoved pillows out of our way and took her fully in my lap. In the new position, I could open my thighs, could take the weight of her as she rode and meet her with thrusts that drove me even deeper inside her.
She trembled at the depth, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me hard as she wound and rolled and ground her clit against my pelvis with every thrust.
“I fucking love when you ride my cock,” I husked, sliding my hand up between her heaving breasts. Up and up it went until my fingers could curl around her throat, my palm hot against her esophagus as I claimed her gasp for my own. “You love it, too, don’t you, Kitten?”
“Yes,” she whimpered.
“Show me how much you love it,” I commanded, gripping her a little tighter as my other hand helped her ride. “Ride my cock until you come so hard you scream my fucking name.”
It was almost too brutal for only her second time having sex, but just like she had last night, she bloomed for me under the filthy instruction, panting and moaning more and more with every dirty word I whispered in her ear.
She loved it like this, rough and raw and possessive — and I’d give her exactly what she wanted for as long as I had the pleasure.
The more she rode, the faster her movements became, the harder it was for me to focus on anything other than her pussy hugging my cock. But I stayed focused, sucking her nipple in my mouth as her movements became more wild and chaotic. Eventually, she was trying to move so fast that she wasn’t moving at all, and I took control, holding her to me as I pounded into her at the pace she needed for her release.
And she found it.
Her cries built more and more until she was full-on screaming, so loudly that I clamped a hand over her mouth to drown them out. I didn’t miss how my name sounded in those muffled cries against my palm, and I ate that shit up, fucking her hard and fast until she fell completely limp in my arms.
“Oh… my… God,” she breathed when I released my grip.
I smirked, kissing her hair and half-expecting her to stop then. I knew she was spent, knew she had to be sore, and with her orgasm no longer something she could chase against the pain, I wouldn’t have faulted her for wanting to stop.
But slowly, she began riding me again.
Her hips rolled, soft moans escaping from her lips as she adjusted to me again. Her pussy was even tighter somehow, swollen from release, and I savored the way it felt to plunge into her each and every time.
“Roll over,” I demanded, and before she could obey, I did it for her — flipping her off me and onto her stomach before I was straddling her from behind. I hiked her hips up to meet my pelvis, positioning myself at her entrance before I drove all the way in.
“Fuuuuck,” she hissed, arching her back. I took the cue to grab a fistful of her damp hair, holding onto it tightly and restricting her from moving her neck back to neutral. I kept her arched, her eyes cast up to the ceiling as I pumped into her.
It was sensational, the way she felt, the way she looked — completely sated and yet entirely focused on making sure I found the same release. Her hungry eyes looked back over her shoulder when I finally released her hair, both hands gripping her hips, instead, as I watched the lips of her pussy suction to my cock each time I withdrew.
“I wish you could see this view,” I told her, slowing down and taking my time with every new thrust. “The way you’re stretching open for me, how your tight little pussy hugs my cock every time I pull out.”
“Clay,” she moaned, and then in a move I was not expecting, she lowered her chest down to the bed and reached through her legs, through mine, until her fingertips gently caressed my balls.
The noise that came from me was one I didn’t recognize, and I saw a whole universe of stars as she did the move again. I could barely keep pace, barely focus on anything with her touching me there, and with more confidence when I didn’t tell her to stop, she rolled them in her palm, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to drive me over the edge.
“Oh fuck, Giana. I… I…”
I couldn’t even warn her, couldn’t say a fucking word as my release spilled violently from me, taking every ounce of awareness I had and focusing on that one euphoric feeling. I pounded into her, savoring every thrust of my release like it was the sweetest drug.
And it was.
She was.
It was the longest orgasm I’d ever had, one that continued to assault me with wave after wave even when I was sure it was over. I didn’t know if it was her hands on my balls or just her, period, but I was so fucking spent by the time I stopped coming, it was all I could do to carefully pull out of her and roll to the side, my chest heaving, lungs burning from the exercise.
“Holy shit,” Giana said, crawling over until she was lying on my chest. “Is it… is it always like this?”
“Never,” I answered honestly, and I cocked a brow at her before we both erupted in laughter.
I pulled her into me then, our legs tangling together as we held onto each other and traced lines on our bare skin as our breathing slowly calmed.
Eventually, our breaths evened out, the room growing quieter, more still. I ran my fingers through her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as something achingly foreign pulled at my heart.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, as if she knew where my spiral was taking me, how I was picturing a day when she’d decide I wasn’t enough for her, a day when she’d walk away and leave me in her dust.
I swallowed against the tightness that built in my throat at the nightmarish thought, choosing to find comfort in her words instead of questioning the truth of them.
“And I’m yours,” I whispered back.
Her arms tightened around me, and for one night, everything was perfect.
We should have known it could never stay that way.
Giana
In all my favorite movies, and in all my favorite books, there’s this moment that I like to call the cotton candy cloud moment.
It’s usually at the beginning, but sometimes a little toward the end, when everything is working out perfectly for the main character. They’re high on life, everything going their way, and they bear an impenetrable smile as they seemingly float through every day on a cloud of fluffy pink and purple sugar. It usually happens right before everything crashes down.
That was me.
I was having my cotton candy cloud moment.
And there was no crash in sight.
Charlotte was so impressed after the auction and especially by me handling our away game in Maine that she offered to extend my contract through next season — and with that came a signing bonus and a raise. I was shocked to silence when she first told me, but she’d only smiled and arched a brow.
“Your determination to prove everyone wrong about you worked,” she said. “But now, I want you to ask yourself what it is you really want from this. And then, I want you to take it.”
Her belief in me had stoked a fire, making me consider all the ways my career could pan out. It was intoxicating to think about.
But nothing was as intoxicating as Clay.
I woke up with him in my bed almost every morning, and on the ones I didn’t, he would be at my door within seconds of me waking. Classes dragged by, practice always seemed too long, and even happy as I was in my job, I couldn’t wait for the work day to be done, for the interviews and publicity events to end.