Page 90 of Desperate Actions

“Fuck.”

His voice is a deep, husky growl, vibrating through the air, through me, sending a delicious shudder straight down my spine.

“Look at you, Pixie. You're so pink and perfect.”

I feel him.

His body, hot and hard, pressing flush against my back, his bare chest searing into my skin, his cock thick and heavy against the curve of my ass.

Fuck, I want him.

I want him inside me.

I want him to fill me, stretch me, ruin me.

I whimper, my head tilting to the side, offering my neck instinctively and he takes it.

“So soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my shoulder, trailing up the curve of my throat.

“So goddamn beautiful.”

Then he inhales deeply, breathing me in, his nose running along my pulse point like he’s memorizing my scent.

Savoring it.

Savoring me.

That alone has me soaking for him.

“Please,” I moan as his hands trace my hips, moving slow and deliberate, his palms hot against my bare skin.

“Please what?” he asks, teasing, taunting, his fingers skimming higher, cupping my tits, rolling my nipples between his expert fingers.

I gasp, arch into his touch, my body trembling with want.

“God, I’m so empty, Sammy. Please.”

His growl is nothing short of animalistic.

“Fuck. Yeah, Pixie? Is my girl needy for me already?”

I nod, desperate, my hips pressing back against him, my ass grinding against his cock, and I swear I feel it twitch in response.

He grins, and I can hear it in his voice when he says, “Does this pussy miss my cock?”

Oh. God.

His words.

Dirty. Filthy.

And I like them.

A lot.

A shameful sob breaks from my lips as he pinches my nipples, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to my core.

“Talk to me, Pixie. Where do you need me?”

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