Page 121 of From Maybe to Baby

With his hands on my hips, he drives his cock deep. I scream, pushing and pulling against his thrusts.

“How do you like that, baby?” he growls. “You like my cock taking you from behind? You like being bent over and fucked?”

“Yes!” I scream. “Yes! Oh, please, yes.”

Even with my movement restricted, I grind against his every thrust, spreading my legs further to allow him to fuck me more deeply. I want every inch of him I can get. But he stops me when he realizes I’m getting close.

“Not so fast, baby,” he says. “You’ll come when I say you can.” He pushes my legs back together and moans when my pussy walls close even more tightly around him.

I whimper.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. “Please let me come.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “In time,” he whispers. “I’m going to make you come so hard.”

He continues ramming me, and I am once more on the edge. I try to hide it from him, not wanting him to stop again, but can’t control my ass bucking against each thrust.

He pummels me harder and faster and deeper, and then pulls out of me again.

“No!” I scream.

I groan and he laughs again. “Lay back, baby.”

I do as I’m told and he moves between my legs. The cold metal of his zipper presses against my warm, tender flesh and I realize he never took the time to completely undress before fucking me.

As he pushes himself closer, the front of his pants soak with my juices. It turns me on as much as the thought of him fucking me, so deep until I beg him for release . . . beg him to let me come.

“Oh, God,” I moan as he pulses his cock in and out of my pussy.

“Play with your tits, baby.”

I pinch and pull.

“Are you ready to come, Alexa?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I pant. “Oh, yes, please.”

“Please what?” he asks.

“Please let me come.” I moan, rolling my head back against the bed below me. “Please fuck me until my pussy explodes.”

He roars, slamming into me one last, hard time, spasming and jerking as he barely holds on to what little control he has left.

He holds it there, deeply inside me and my own explosion follows.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, leaning forward and grabbing my hair. “Goddamn, that feels so fucking good.”

We are covered in sweat and juices, panting as we eye each other.

“What was with the edging?” I ask.

Jonas snorts out a laugh. “It just came to me. Now, let’s go shower.”

Later,watching the kids turn dinner into their own cultural fusion experiment, I realize something. This beautiful mess, this life I never planned—it's better than any five-star experience I’ve ever had.

My phone buzzes with notifications:

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