Page 77 of Wreck Me

I didn’t want to analyze it.

I just wanted to feel.

Hell, that was all he was allowing me to do.

He was wrenching me into that raw state where there was no denial, all walls decimated.

“Say it,” he breathed at my ear.

He alternated between rapid-fire thrusts of his fingers, that curling deep inside, and then rough twisting, before pulling out and plunging back in again.

He spread my pussy open with the fingers of his other hand all of a sudden, then started strumming my now very swollen and sensitized clit with his thumb.

Sharp zings of electricity shot out at the point of contact and surged through the rest of my body, colliding with his punishing and tormenting fingers working inside me.

I grabbed onto his shoulders for balance, my knees growing weak with the pleasure overload.

And then it just happened, what he called the raw me broke through all the rest, and then I was uttering the words in a breathless whisper, “I do… I… I want you, Sebastian.”

His erotic torment stilled, both hands pausing.

His eyes lit up, and not in the hellfire way.

A smile spread over his face.

Not a sly or sarcastic one. Not a creepy, psychotic smile.

It was purely genuine.

Real and open.

Heartfelt.

It had me doing the same, connecting us in that moment, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And then he pulled me against him, my face buried in his chest as he wrapped his arm around me, then angled his fingers inside me, resuming his intense pounding and grinding his palm against my clit in the process.

“Come for me, beautiful.”

I’d already been right on the edge before, so it didn’t take much for my orgasm to slam into me.

“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned. “Drench my fingers.”

My body went rigid as ecstasy tore through me and I was shrieking out in the room and throwing my head back. He didn’t stop, letting me ride my orgasm for all it was worth, until I was whimpering, my legs shaking.

He pulled his fingers free and I sank into him.

He took my weight and the next thing I knew, he was gathering me in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he uttered on a husky whisper.

It had me startled because it was almost tender, definitely verging on sweet. A far cry from his harsh side.

It wasn’t the first time he’d shown it to me, but it still took me by surprise when he brought it out. That assholish psycho approach had seemed to be his default setting, something he’d used with me for the majority of the time.

Had that just been him when agitation had been in play?

Was this… softness… more than just a once-in-a-blue moon thing, not an exception to the normal rule with him?

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