Page 126 of Hell and High Water

But I don’t care.

I use it.

I let it fuel my pleasure.

My desire blazes brighter and brighter, the heat roiling through my entire body. Soon, we’re both soaked in the sweat of our efforts, wrestling with each other as I shove him back, force him to the bed.

I ignore the red marks on his back, on my legs and ass from fingernails and open palms. It’s beautiful artwork, marks of pride left on each other.

Groaning with my unfulfilled desire, I crawl over him, pinning his wrists, rising up onto the balls of my feet as I take him into me again, settle his entire length deep within, feel my walls stretch to my limit to accommodate him all the way to the hit.

Then I start. Up and down, raising myself and dropping back down again and again with reckless abandon, slapping my ass down against his thighs over and over again. It’s powerful, on the verge of painful for me, for him too. But it’s everything.

Dropping down again, I keep him buried in me, grinding my hips around in a circle, savoring the pulsing throb of his head inside, the rhythm sending chills along my arms and legs.

Tossing my head back, I let my eyes droop closed as I drift for a second, letting my mind wander back to each time I’ve had him, each time he’s taken me.

And right there alongside every one of our passionate joinings is that anger.

It's something that's haunted me since the first time I saw him bulging in his pants in that studio as I bent over in front of him, touching myself, teasing him and demanding that he not look away as he came to the sight of me.

Since then, our passion has only grown, through our dance, through our avoiding the words, giving in to the physical passion of it.

And then that night dancing in front of an entire crowd, making love in front of an entire group of people like they weren't even there, like it was the most natural and amazing thing in the world.

I feel him lurch under me, pounding up into me as I float in those memories for another moment. Then I’m back and his hands are locked onto my hips, lifting us both off the bed with every thrust.

I realize I’m crying out each time, my screams echoing through the apartment.

Just the thought of anyone hearing us makes me lose it. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if anyone hears.

Let them.

All of my thoughts are swept away as Evan rises up again, this time flipping me over as if I weigh nothing. Planting me on my back under him, he pushes my legs back, my knees to my shoulders as he presses against me, skewering me again, deeper than ever.

“Oh, fuck! Evan, do it. Make me come!” I beg, knowing this will be my undoing.

Unable to move, my legs folded over me, over his shoulders, he hits that sweetest spot every time he drives into me, so hard, faster and faster.

All I can do is grip behind my knees as my screams become one long, dawn out cry, my eyes rolling back into my head.

Evan jackhammers me again, over and over, never letting up, never tiring.

Every thrust is harder, more desperate.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

The pressure and speed are overwhelming me, making it hard to catch my breath, but I don’t dare move. I can't. I need him to keep going.

I need him to destroy me.

He’s everywhere inside me now, the only thing I can feel. He is my air, my water. I only know the beating pulse of our perfect union.

The rushing cascade barrels down my spine, the first traces of my unraveling starting as a wave, building and building and growing into a torrent of sensation, a roar of absolute devastation. I might black out.

“EVAN!” I scream to the heavens. I scream to him, the center of my universe. “Fuck me like you love me. Like I'm the only thing in the world.”

“You are my world,” he cries, his voice rising with mine.

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