Page 93 of Desperate Actions

The grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging in so hard, I know there will be bruises tomorrow.

And I don’t care.

Hell, I want them.

I want to brandish them with pride.

I’m desperate for his marks to sear into my skin.

Want to wake up knowing he was here, inside me, taking what’s his.

I am so close.

The pressure coils low in my belly, growing tighter, heavier, more unbearable.

“Rub your clit, Wife.”

The command is a growl, thick with ownership, reverence, need.

“Come all over my cock.”

And fuck, I obey.

Because of course I do.

Two swipes of my fingers, and I’m gone.

I explode around him, my body clenching, shaking, bowing as the orgasm crashes through me, igniting nerve endings I didn’t even know existed.

Stars burst behind my eyelids, my mind blanking, my body breaking, my voice lost in a strangled cry of pleasure.

Sammy snarls, his hips slamming erratically, his breath ragged as he fucks me through it, wringing every last aftershock out of my wrecked, soaking body.

Then he freezes, his muscles going rigid, his hold tightening.

And I feel it.

The first hot, thick pulse of his release.

Then another.

And another.

His cock throbs inside me, filling me up just like he said he would, his cum painting my insides, claiming me in the most primal way possible.

Boneless.

That’s how I feel.

Completely fucking wrecked.

Like I have been torn apart and put back together solely for his pleasure. And I love it.

I love him.

Sammy’s heavy body collapses on top of mine, his weight comforting, grounding, intoxicating as he catches his breath.

I don’t even mind.

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