Page 20 of Poison's Promise

“Less talking, more action,” I pant, tugging at his jeans.

“Your wish is my command,” he says, and then he’s lifting me, slamming me against the wall with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.

“Shit,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His hands are on my ass, squeezing, kneading, driving me wild.

“Fuck, I want you so bad,” he groans, grinding against me, and I can feel just how much he means it.

“Then fucking do it already,” I snap, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“With pleasure,” he growls, and then his hand is between us, ripping my panties aside with a roughness that sends a thrill through me.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice hoarse with need.

“Always,” I whisper, and then he’s thrusting into me, and it’s everything.

“Goddamn,” he groans, his forehead resting against mine as he starts to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me. “Missed you. Missed this.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I demand, clawing at his back, needing more, needing everything.

“Gladly,” he growls, his grip on my hips tightening.

He pulls out almost entirely, then slams back in, the force of it making me cry out.

The sound echoes through the room, a mix of pain and pleasure that drives me wild.

His hand moves to my neck, fingers wrapping around my throat with just enough pressure to make my pulse quicken.

He squeezes, not too hard, but enough to remind me who’s in control. I love it. The edge of danger, the thrill of giving myself over completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, his voice strained. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense. “Always loved how you feel.”

“Harder,” I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

“Oh, I’m not.” he says, his voice low and rough.

He pounds into me, each thrust more brutal than the last.

My back scrapes against the wall, the friction adding another layer to the sensation.

It’s pure bliss, the kind that makes everything else fade away.

“Yes,” I moan, arching into him. “God, yes.”

“Take it,” he hisses, his grip on my throat tightening. “Take all of it.”

“More,” I beg, my body trembling with need. “Please, Ash.”

“Fuck, Polly,” he groans, his pace relentless.

His free hand moves between us, finding that sensitive spot and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me.”

“Almost there,” I gasp, my vision blurring.

The world narrows to the point where our bodies meet, the slick heat, the electricity sparking with every movement.

“Now,” he commands, his voice harsh. “Come for me, baby.”

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