Page 23 of My Bloody Valentine

“Tell me, little critic,” he whispers, his refined accent making even the filthiest words sound elegant. “Does anyone else make you this wet? This desperate?”

“No,” I gasp, fingers digging crescents into the wood. “Only you, Adrian.”

“That’s right. And do you know why?” His hand slides up my back, sending delicious tremors through me. “Because I understand what that pretty cunt of yours craves.”

The crude word from his sophisticated mouth makes me clench around him involuntarily. He notices. Of course he does.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “Such a proper food critic, coming undone at my vulgar words. Should I tell you how divine you feel? Your cunt was made to worship my cock. It’s a filthy temple of pleasure, and I plan to pray at that altar.”

Each filthy word delivered in his cultured tone drives me wild. The contrast between his refined demeanor and his crude language is intoxicating.

“You’re going to come for me again,” he states matter-of-factly as if discussing the weather. “And this time, I want to feel every flutter of your walls around me while I fill that greedy little cunt of yours.”

I whimper, his words affecting me as much as his measured thrusts. The way he maintains his composure while saying such dirty things is driving me insane with need.

His rhythm slows, each thrust becoming deliberate, torturous. My body screams for release, but he holds back, waiting.

“Let the needs spill from those beautiful lips,” he instructs. “Every filthy detail.”

I bite back a moan as he withdraws almost completely, leaving just the tip inside me. The emptiness is maddening.

“Please,” I whimper, trying to push back against him, but his grip on my hips keeps me still.

“Please, what?” His tone shifts to a deeper timbre. “Be specific. You’re so good with words in your reviews.”

“Adrian, please...” My voice breaks thick with want. “I need your cock. I need to feel you inside me, claiming every part of me, possessive and deep. Please, Adrian... Fuck me until I can’t remember my own?—”

He cuts me off with a sharp thrust, making me cry out, then returns to an agonizingly slow pace.

“Not good enough,” he purrs. “Tell me exactly what you want. Every. Little. Detail.” Each word is punctuated with a shallow thrust that leaves me desperate for more.

“I want you to stretch me, Adrian,” I pant, my voice ragged with need. “Fill me so completely that I’m imprinted with your mark. I want you to thrust so deeply that it’s seared into my soul, branding me from the inside out. I want to feel every vein, every ridge of your cock pulsing against my walls. Fuckme so thoroughly that I can’t walk tomorrow without knowing unmistakably who I belong to.”

His grip tightens on my hips. “That’s my good girl,” he growls. “Now, was that so hard?” Without warning, he surges into me, thrusting deep with shameless hunger.

My body yields beneath the force of his possession, every nerve alight with the intensity of our connection. His cock pulses against my sensitive walls, igniting a fire that sears my core. It’s exactly what I’ve begged for, yet the intensity steals my breath.

Each stroke delves deep, a deliberate invasion that leaves me quivering. I can feel the heat of him, the hardness, and every thick ridge that drags across my sensitive walls. He claims me with each thrust, making me his canvas of pleasure and pain.

He growls with a particularly fierce thrust, “This is what you wanted. Every. Fucking. Inch.” His hips pistoning, driving into me with purpose, each impact sending shocks of delight through my trembling body. “Feel that?” His voice rumbles against my ear. “That’s you, taking all of me.” I’m putty in his skilled hands, my body alive and throbbing. His pace quickens, each thrust a delicious punishment I can’t escape and never want to end.

“Now come for me and only me,” he demands. “Let me feel your walls spasm around my cock.”

I can’t hold back anymore. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. My legs shake, and if it weren’t for Adrian’s unyielding grasp on my hips, I’d collapse onto the table.

“Adrian!” I scream his name, not caring who might hear it. My fingers dig into the wood, searching for something to anchor me as my mind whites out from the intensity.

He continues his relentless pace, drawing out my orgasm until I’m sobbing with pleasure. I’ve never experienced anything like this—this complete surrender, this total loss of control. Every nerve ending in my body is firing at once, and I can barely remember my own name.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice strained. “Give in to it. Let go completely.”

A fresh sensation rips through my body, drawing out another ragged cry. My walls clench around him rhythmically as aftershocks ripple through me. I’m trembling, covered in a light sweat, completely at his mercy.

This is beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. No man has ever made me feel this way—so desperate, so wanton, so completely owned. My mind can’t process the overload of sensations. All I can do is feel, react, and submit to the pleasure he’s giving me.

The intensity of it all overwhelms me. My breath comes in short gasps, my heart pounds against my ribcage, and my skin tingles everywhere he touches. I’m lost in a haze of pure sensation, floating on waves of ecstasy I never knew existed.

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