Page 33 of The Mob and his Messenger

“Y-yes,” I whisper, the force of his words causing me to shiver as I hastily start undressing.

I pull the dress over my head and then tear at my bra and panties, wanting to get it done quickly so that I don’t have to hover in this moment and have time to think too much.

I don’t want to think about how this is my first time and I could disappoint him and blah-blah-blah, no, not tonight, not right now. This is about what our bodies want, and right now my body is screaming at me to trust my instincts, to just go with it.

I stare up at Dom, standing there completely naked now. His body is all carved muscle, all seven feet of him standing at the end of the bed like a stone statue.

And his cock is as stone solid as the rest of him, ten or eleven inches of pure throbbing flesh pointing almost straight up, his lust for me making him so hard.

Precome reflects the candlelight from his tip, a big dollop of it, and as I stare I get the craziest idea that I need to taste it.

See if it tastes as good as his chest.

Before I can fight down the urge with paranoia and self-hate, I lean forward and open my mouth as wide as it will go. Even so, fitting around his engorged helm causes the corners of my lips to ache slightly. I make the effort and suck the end of him, instinctively wrapping my hand around his base when I hear the moan in his voice.

For the first time, Dom sounds like his control might be slipping, like I’m in control.

“Fucking hell,” he croaks. “D-Dallas. You look so perfect right now, with your big creamy breasts bouncing with each s-s-suck. Stop. Fuck. Stop and lie on your back right now! You’ve got me good and slick and now it’s time I rewarded your needy patient pussy.”

I gasp and lean back, my mouth filled with the taste of him, which was good mostly because of how he moaned, how he trembled for me. Now I stare up at him, my center a swimming ocean of want.

Wetness dominates and my lips give a sensitive flutter as he climbs onto the end of the bed, the mattress creaking under his predator’s weight.

“Open your legs,” he snarls.

“Like this?” I moan, lifting them so they make a V-shape.

“Yes,” he groans, climbing between them, using one hand to prop himself up as he reaches down with the other.

I grab onto his shoulders, trying to dig my fingernails in as though if I don’t I might just soar away on the budding lust. But his shoulders are so hard I feel my fingernails bending against his unyielding muscles instead.

“Fuck, your body’s ready for me,” he breathes, his massive head brushing against my lips, making a little teasing entry before pulling back, and then inching in again, just a little, just enough to let my virgin body know it’s okay to release.

“Take it,” Dom moans. “Take all of it, Dallas.”

“Do it,” I urge him. “I want it. I want it bad. Give me everything you’ve got, Dom.”

“Are you sure?” he growls. “Once I feel your tight hot pussy around my base, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. You drive me feral.”

“I don’t want you to stop, ever,” I moan. “Do it. Take me. Please.”

Oh, God, he drives his hips and suddenly he’s plunged balls deep inside of me, the entire weight of him filling me up from the inside. I feel his hardness against my walls seeming to pump and pulse within my pussy.

I bite down and stare into his face, his eyes pinning me, their flaming need intensifying the—the—the pleasure.

Because, God, after the initial burst of discomfort, I feel something else flooding into me.

It’s like all my happiest moments are brimming in my lower half, as though a thousand messages are being directed to my pussy, as though all the heat of the world is down there.

“This is—amaze—amazing,” I whisper, struggling to speak.

“You feel perfect,” he snarls, thrusting harder now, in and out with a rhythm I try to match even as the bubbling euphoria threatens to throw me into another world.

“When you do that—fuck,” he snarls.

I keep angling my hips the way I was, sitting up a little now, rocking my body in motion with his as though we’re both riding a wave.

“Like this?” I moan.

“Keep doing that,” he snaps. “And push those tits together. Pinch your nipples like you’re making milk come out of them. Fucking—pinch—them.”

I grab my breasts and push them together, squeezing and kneading my flesh, tickling my nipples between my forefinger and thumb and feeling a swell of victory in me when I see how fixated Dom’s face is as though he’s being hypnotized by the movement.

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