Page 37 of Savage Justice

I fist my dick and position the crown at her entrance. One sharp rock of my hips, and I’m balls-deep inside her. In Heaven.

She’s as snug as I remember. And hot. Scorching, hugging me with a pressure nothing short of exquisite. I draw back, then drive my cock deep again, relishing the friction of her body wrapping itself around me.

“Christ, girl,” I mutter, holding still for a moment to savour the rush of exquisite sensation. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“You, too,” she whispers.

She reaches for my forearms, planted on either side of her hips and hangs on as she raises her feet to lock them behind my back. She rolls her hips as though to urge me on, and her pussy tightens around me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to be any tighter, but there you have it.

I begin thrusting again, short, sharp jabs at first, then lengthening my strokes when the pleasure builds. I adjust to find the angle that will put pressure on that most sensitive spot at the front, and I know when I hit it because she shudders violently and cries out something unintelligible.

My balls clench; I’m close to coming but I need her to fly again before I do.

I reach for her wrist and place her own fingers on her clit, then I slide my hand under us to find her arse again. She obeys my wordless command and rubs her fingertips over the swollen bud, while I drive my middle finger full length into her rear channel. The increase in pressure almost has me blowing my load right there and then. Only the thin membrane separates my finger and my cock. I think I might lose my mind, but who cares? Sanity is overrated.

Ripples surge the length of my erection when she climaxes again. She arches under me, thrusting hard against me as she finds her release.

That’s it. My nuts aren’t waiting another second. They contract so violently it actually fucking hurts and eject streams of cum into her. It’s hot and wet, wicked, dirty and gloriously sensual, filling her channel and trickling out to coat her buttocks and my balls.

When it’s over I collapse onto her, gasping to get my breath back. I remember my manners and drop an appreciative kiss on her mouth, then force myself to withdraw from her, shift over and take my own weight. She’s only half my size, I could crush her.

“There are probably some tissues somewhere,” I mumble, my face pressed into the cushion.

“Okay,” she replies, though neither of us are in a state to go and find them right now.

I give myself a few moments to recover, then I push myself up onto my knees. “Fuck, that was…”

“Yes. I know. Totally.” She’s still splayed across the upholstery and showing no sign of moving.

“You all right? I wasn’t too rough?”

“Were you rough?”

Evidently not. I need to work on that. I get to my feet and pause for a moment to let the earth stop moving before I zip myself up and stumble across the room in search of said tissues. I find a box on the windowsill and bring them back to her, then grab a handful.

“I can do that,” she tells me and reaches for the tissues.

“No. Let me.” I mop up most of the stickiness, dabbing at her until I’m satisfied she’s fit to be presented to her daughter again. “Next time, I’ll fuck you in my bed. You won’t need to clean up after. At least, not straight away.”

“Something to look forward to,” she observes with a wry grin.

I dump the tissues on the floor for disposal later, and hand her her rather delightful underwear. “I love your taste in lingerie.”

“Thank you.”

She pulls the pants back on, then the bra, while I hunt around for the rest of her clothes. I find them behind the chaise longue and help her back into them.

“Do you suppose there’s anything left in the kitchen?” she wonders as she fastens her chinos. “I think we worked up an appetite.”

My stomach growls in agreement. I offer her my hand, and she takes it. We make our way along the stone-flagged corridor to the great hall, then through that, heading in the direction of the kitchen. Voices drift towards us, a blend of male, female, and children’s chatter.

Molly pauses and tugs on my hand. “I just want you to know, I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t do this often. Sleep with men I hardly know, I mean. I realise what you must be thinking, with Borys and Noah and all that, but—”

“I’m not thinking anything. What about you?”

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