Page 62 of Worth the Risk

“And this time?” I moan as his tongue dances across my skin.

“This time”—his hand drops to my belly, sliding down until he’s slipping a finger inside me again, making me gasp—“is for me.”

I’m dripping. Shaking. Already ready for him to take me again less than five minutes after he made me come with only penetration for the first time in my life. We’re almost at the top of the stairs, his fingers inside me, his cock pressing against my ass.

“Fuck it,” he groans, pushing me forward until my hands are on the landing, my knees on the second to top stair. “This will have to do.”

He grips my waist, pressing his cock against my entrance and sliding into me in one stroke.

“Ahh!” I arch, my knees pressing into the runner on the stairs, the rug burn already stinging. I struggle to accommodate him so quickly, my walls clenching, making it harder for him to enter me.

“Just breathe,” he grunts, pulling almost completely out. “You just took me, baby,” he says calmly, slipping inside me only an inch or two before backing out. “Come on,” he grunts again. He grabs a handful of my hair when my body lets him slide in deeper. “Just like that, baby girl.” His fingers dig into my skin so hard it hurts.

“It’s too deep like this.” My voice quivers and I’m not sure if it’s from pain or excitement or maybe both.

“That’s the point.”

He begins to really move now, faster and deeper. My poor body struggles to handle him, to keep up with his punishing strokes, but it doesn’t stop him. “Does it hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes,” I moan, “but it feels so good.”

“Ohhh, that’s right.” He pounds into me harder, his balls slapping my clit every so many strokes, sending an extra jolt of pleasure through me and dulling the pain. “I want you sore tomorrow. I want you thinking of me every time you move.”

His hand presses against my back harder, pushing my chest and cheek against the carpet as he loses control.

His words come out in jumbled, frantic bursts. “Five years. Little attitude. So frustrating. You can take it for another thirty seconds.”

I never let myself get this far in any fantasies of Austin that slipped through the cracks of my mind. But if I had, I still wouldn’t have been able to imagine him like this. Sweaty, losing control of himself, barking orders at me while he takes me punishingly hard.

But even more, I never, in my wildest fantasies, would have seen myself wanting a man to fuck me like this.

He doesn’t last another thirty seconds thankfully because I don’t think I would have either. This time when he comes, it’s with a low, reverberating moan that echoes down the stairs and his favorite four-letter word drawn out impossibly long. “Fuuuuuck.”

“Don’t move.” He pants against my back, his warm breath coming out in puffs against my slick skin. He slips himself from me with a wince and then a very satisfied moan as he runs his hand over my exposed ass. “Fuck me.”

“What?” I turn my face to look back at him from where I’m still sprawled across the carpet on my belly, my ass up in the air. That’s when I feel the warmth of his release drip down my thigh.

“The sight of my cum dripping out of your pretty pussy.” He smiles, dragging his hand up between my cheeks to spread his wetness over my asshole. “Just might be my favorite thing ever.”

Instead of smacking his hand away in embarrassment or attempting to get away from the pressure of his fingertip against my unexplored rosette, I press back against him, my body moving on its own.

He watches me, toying around the outside as my arousal grows.

“And here I thought you weren’t that kind of girl, Taylor.”

“I don’t know what kind of girl I am anymore.” It sounds like a cliché line in a movie when I say it, my brain a jumbled mess of emotions right now, but it’s true.

He clicks his tongue, pressing against me harder. “You’re going to get fucked again if you don’t stop.” He’s on his knees, stroking his cock with one hand, the other continuing to toy with me. I look back over my shoulder at him as he watches what he’s doing to me.

“Maybe I want to get fucked again.” I hardly recognize my voice, the way my body is writhing like a cat in heat. “Maybe I need it.”

Who the hell am I?

This is exactly what I’ve fantasized about without ever having experienced it. So desired, so turned on and needy that I lose all sense of myself. That my inhibitions melt away and I’m free to say and do the things I want to express my sexuality.

“I know you do,” he says, releasing his cock and reaching down to pull me back upright, against his chest. “But this third time”—his arm is around my waist, his other tilting my head back so he can kiss me—“I want to take my time with you.”

And he does.

---