Page 11 of Mountain Daddy

“I'm going to?—”

“Come for me, Lilly,” he growls against me. “Now.”

And I do.

I shatter.

Explode.

I come hard. So hard, I swear I stop breathing.

I break apart into a million glittering pieces. The orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, wild and unstoppable. My back arches off the chaise. My thighs clamp around his head. My voice tears from my throat in a cry I barely recognize.

He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on me, gentler now but still moving, drawing out every last tremor until I'm pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive to take more. I’ve never come like that. He knewexactlyhow to rub, to lick, to press into the right spot like he had a damn GPS to my pleasure.

When he finally raises his head, his lips are glistening with me. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Never—” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “Never felt that before.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Never?”

I shake my head, still pulsing with aftershocks. “Not like that.”

“We're just getting started.”

I whimper with need. He moves up my body. One hand grips my hip. The other wraps around mine.

“Stroke me, Lilly,” he growls at me in a velvet voice.

I reach out and take him in my hand, feeling each vein, every ridge, and the softness of his head. God. He’s huge. Slowly, I grip him, stroking up and down, fingers caressing his balls. He hisses as I pick up the pace.

“God, yes,” he grunts out.

I feel powerful, owning his pleasure like this. When I can’t wait any longer, I press the head of him up against my wet folds. His eyes lock onto mine.

He pushes into me slowly. Inch by excruciating inch. My body stretches to accommodate him. I gasp slightly at the intrusion. He's... not small.

“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes closing. “You're tight.”

I dig my nails into his shoulders as he pushes all the way in, then waits. His forehead drops to mine, arms bracketed around my head. The moment hangs between us, heavy with promise.

Then he starts to move.

Slow at first. Deliberate. Testing my limits. Watching my face for signs of discomfort. But I don't want gentle. Not now. Not with him.

“Harder,” I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His eyes darken, and a growl rumbles in his chest. “As you wish.”

He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in. The force of it shoves me up the chaise. I cry out—not in pain, but shock at how good it feels.

He sets a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drives me higher, builds the tension again. His hands are everywhere—gripping my ass, squeezing my breasts, curling around my throat just firmly enough to make my pulse race.

“You like that?” he asks, feeling me clench around him when his hand tightens slightly on my neck.

“Yes,” I gasp, shameless in my admission.

He smirks.

---