Page 106 of Devil's Tulip

“Michael,” I whine, frustration clawing at me.

“You want my cock? Then take it out with your own hands, Gianna,” he says coolly.

And so, with hands shaking from sheer need—like a junkie unwrapping her next hit—I slip my fingers into his underwear and free his massive erection.Christ.He’s turned me into a full-blown sex addict, and I no longer have the will or desire to deny it.

Biting my bottom lip, I stroke him, my thumb rolling over his beautiful piercing, and my core clenches at the memory of just how wickedly good that metal feels inside me. I try to tease him like he always teases me, but I’m nowhere near as patient and collected as he is. Within seconds, I’m shifting my panties to the side at the crotch and positioning him against my entrance.

I moan, drool pooling in my mouth as I glide his wide head through my folds, shivering when the cool metal barbell kisses my clit. I do it again. And again. And again. My core gushing wetness as it contracts each time.

Fuck. I could come like this.

“Get on my fucking cock already, Gia,” Michael growls, his composure finally cracking as he wraps his arm around my back, lifting me effortlessly until I’m straddling him.

Chest heaving, I lick my lips and brace one hand on his tattooed shoulder while guiding him inside me with the other.

It’s our first time in this position—face-to-face, with me on top—and he feels impossibly huge. I clench my teeth, gripping his shoulder harder as I slowly work him into my sex, trying to take him deeper, sweat dripping down my spine.

“Fuck, you’re so big…so biggg—” My head falls back on a low drawn-out moan as he keeps stretching me, filling me, pushing deeper than I thought possible.

“You’re doing good, baby girl. Taking me so well.” His voice is a husky drawl, thick with praise. “That’s it, love… yessss.” He grabs my hip tightly as I finally take him to the hilt, our pelvises kissing. He presses his forehead against mine, lips seeking mine.

And then he kisses me.

Deeply. Hungrily. Like he hasn’t kissed me in months. Like he didn’t fuck me senseless just this morning. Like he’s been starving for me for years.

And I drink it all in greedily, moaning against his lips, stuffed so full with him I can feel him everywhere.

When he breaks the kiss, I’m gasping for air, but he doesn’t even give me a second to recover before he begins moving me on his cock. My hands reach out blindly behind me, slapping against the edge of the desk for support as I ride him slowly, a tsunami of pleasure barreling through me.

His hands roam my body languidly, tracing every inch like he has all the time in the world. He cups my tits, using his thumb to play with my already oversensitive nipples, then slides down my belly, dipping into my navel seductively, thrusting in and out in the same rhythm as his cock.

Then he goes lower.

Oh.

I jolt, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers circle over my clit, stoking my pleasure higher and higher with each precise stroke until I’m delirious, lost in sensation.

I grind down harder, trying to move faster on him—my climax is soooo close—but his hand clamps around my waist, holding me steady. I moan, long and desperate, pleasure mixing with frustration and a tiny bit of pain from how he’s drawing it out.

“Michael, please?—"

Then he presses down on my clit, and it’s like triggering a detonator. My head snaps back so violently, my neck protests as I explode, screaming his name while sweet tears stream down my cheeks.

Michael snarls against my skin, and his rhythm turns wild, his pace breaking from steady control into raw, erratic thrusts.

And somehow, knowing he’s about to climax sends another surge of pleasure soaring through me.

Then he’s cumming, his balls slapping against my ass as his cock pulses inside me.

His hot semen triggers aftershocks that ripple through me, and I convulse around him, our cries of pleasure mixing.

Finally spent, I collapse against his shoulder, my heart racing a mile a minute, body hot and slick with sweat.

With a blissful sigh, I place my palm on his chest, loving the way his heart matches the frantic staccato of mine.

31

GIANNA

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