“Yes,” I gasped.
“Good. Now let’s see how fast I can make you come.”
He tilted his hips up and began thrusting in earnest, his tip knocking against the most sensitive place inside of me. My breath hitched.
“That’s right,” he said, with pride. “I know your spot.”
Damn, did he ever. The storm of pleasure began to gather, quickly. Too quickly. I felt off balance, my head spinning. I braced one hand on the couch and wrapped the other around his neck for support. Shooting to the edge this fast, I was going to go off like a bottle rocket, soaring high and screaming all the way.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, attempting to keep my cries to a minimum.
“Don’t be quiet,” Reeve whispered, slowing his tempo ever so slightly.
“What?” Or that’s the word I was going for. It came out more like a single syllable of unidentifiable sound.
He understood me. “Don’t be quiet, or I’ll stop.”
I was in a daze from the way he was stroking me, my mental bandwidth taxed with the attempt to remain in control. My brow furrowed. “Don’t be quiet?”
“Don’t be quiet,” he repeated, shifting his pelvis so that he hit a new, equally tender spot. “I want them to hear you. I want them to know what I’m doing to you. Let them know that you’re being fucked good and hard, just like you like it.”
My throat was tight, my whimpers barely restrained. He had so much control over me, so much power to have me this close to destruction so quickly. I was exposed. Raw and vulnerable. Caught off guard by how easily he annihilated me each and every time.
It scared me. And, not in the way that I liked.
So instead of giving in to him like he wanted – like I wanted – I resisted. Trying to maintain some semblance of myself. Trying to hold on for just another moment. And anyway, wasn’t it just as hot to try to be quiet? “Reeve, I —”
He pulled my head back with a yank of my hair. “You say my name again, Emily, you better scream it.”
I almost came right then. Maybe resistance wasn’t an option after all.
“Now.” He yanked again, and I gasped from pain so wonderful that it shot sparks straight down to my pussy. His rhythm had slowed considerably, his cock barely pulsing in and out of me. “I told you what I wanted from you. If you’re refusing, fine. I’ll pull out and finish on my own. But you’ll be wearing cum on your dress for the rest of the day. Either way those men are going to know you were in here being the dirty little slut that you are. Your choice. Do you understand?”
Okay, that was hot, too. Hotter than trying to be quiet.
“I understand,” I said, kicking myself for thinking I could hold out against him. He was already so far under my skin that I barely recognized myself when I looked inside these days.
Letting out a slow breath, I locked my eyes on his, and cleared my mind of nothing but him. Nothing but the steady way he rocked into me. Nothing but the throbbing rod between my legs, filling me, invading me.
Lifting under my thighs, Reeve angled me so that my pussy was tighter around him and the first uninhibited cry fell from my lips.
“That’s it,” he said, increasing his drive. “Keep going. I’ll help you.” Slanting his mouth over my breast, he took my nipple between his teeth and pulled.
I cried out again, louder than before.
“Yes. Like that. Show them how naughty you are.” He resumed his nipple play, pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger. It was all I needed. I was lost.
Whimpers turned to wails, gasps turned to screams. Every nerve in my body blazed as my climax shot through me, shattering me. Shredding me.
And as I was decimated, Reeve came alive, turned on by my utter destruction. He pounded into me with passionate fury, driving deeper than he’d ever been, coaxing my orgasm on and on with filthy words of alternating praise and castigation. Then he was there – I could tell by the moan that laced his ragged breaths – but instead of spurting inside of me, he pulled out. I tried to protest, but was still riding out my own orgasm when, with one tug of his hand, he climaxed, shooting onto my cunt, coating my newly waxed Brazilian with his cum.
He stood over me, one hand braced on the arm of the couch as we both struggled to find our breath. As soon as I could talk again, I half-heartedly complained, “You said you’d come inside me if I wasn’t quiet.”
“No. I said I wouldn’t come on your dress. And I didn’t.” He shook one last drop onto the milky puddle he’d made then put himself away. “Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
He crossed to the sink at the other side of the room, grabbed a towel from the overhead cupboard, and got it wet. Then he came back, stopping when he was only a couple of feet away to scan the length of my body.
“What?”
“The way you look spread out like that, covered with my cum —” He finished with a groan.
“You branded me, cowboy.” I was pretty sure I got that about him now. He marked me like this when he was feeling insecure about something. About me. When he thought he was going to lose me. So why did he feel that way now?
“It’s almost a shame to remove it, but I suppose you’d rather I did.” He didn’t wait for me to respond, bending down to wipe the warm cloth over me, cleaning me with such thoroughness, such intimacy.
It made me feel close to him. Close enough to ask, “Reeve, out there – what were you so upset about?”
“You don’t need to worry about it.”