Page 161 of Wicked Fantasies

He complied again, slowly pushing two of his thick fingers inside her pussy. Guess it was true what they said. Big hands, big…

His fingers, once inside, stopped moving.

Asshole.

“Move them.” And then before he asked her to elaborate, she added, “Hard and fast.”

He began working his hand against her and she groaned at how good his touch felt. Her head fell back against his shoulder and before she thought better of it, her eyes landed on the reflection of him finger-fucking her in the mirror.

“See what I mean?” he asked, his eyes capturing hers in the mirror. “Fucking hot.”

He was right. Well, sort of right. She could definitely pick out the flaws in her body—damn cellulite—but as a whole? Fucking hot.

His fingers continued to move but she was too captured by the image and she shook her head. “Not enough. I need you. Inside me.”

“I am inside you.”

“Not your fingers,” she said.

“What then?”

Prick.

She caught his gaze in the mirror and held it for just a moment before speaking her heart’s desire. “I want your cock. Inside me. Deep inside me. Now.”

It was his turn to groan. “Lift up.”

She obeyed, reaching between her legs to greedily snatch his cock in her hand before he could take it away from her again. She guided him to her opening and slowly sat down.

“Fuck,” he whispered and she looked up to see his pained expression in the mirror.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

“Only in the best possible way. Ride me, Rachel. This one is your show.”

Her show? She hadn’t considered that when she’d picked out the position, but he was right. She could direct this one, taking him any way she wanted. Should she tease him with a long, slow ride, as he’d done to her earlier, or pound against his flesh the way she loved?

Decisions, decisions.

She stood up slowly, careful to keep the head of his cock nestled just inside. His hands supported her waist but he was true to his word. He wasn’t taking control. She moved back down, leisurely, relishing his hushed curse. There was something very heady, very exciting about holding a man’s passion in her hands. She repeated her easy lovemaking, even when his grip on her waist tightened.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice low and so sexy, her already hard nipples tightened even more.

“Tell me what you want,” she said. Now it was her turn.

His chuckle was cut off abruptly as she sped up on her next return. “Goddammit, woman. I want you to fuck me. I want to watch those gorgeous tits of yours bounce as you pound yourself on my hard cock.”

All hail the King of Dirty Talk.

“Tits?” she asked instead, feigning offense.

“Breasts, boobs, jugs. Jesus, Rachel. If you have an ounce of compassion in you, you’ll move.”

She laughed—and then she moved.

Ethan mindlessly clickedthrough the television channels as Rachel rested her head on his lap. After round four hundred and thirty-nine in the bedroom, the hunger in their stomachs finally surpassed the hunger in every other part of their bodies. She’d thrown on a T-shirt and panties despite Ethan’s assurances he wouldn’t mind watching her make sandwiches in the nude. She’d declined the offer, watching with shock as he walked to the kitchen stark naked. What must it feel like to be so comfortable in your own skin, she wondered? She knew for a fact she would never suffer such a fate. Her modesty was far too ingrained to be so easily overcome. Although with Ethan, she felt adventurous enough to consider trying it. Maybe next time.

Next time.

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