Page 122 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
And fuuuuuck is it good.
All-consuming.
A taking.
A claiming.
Until he suddenly stills his hips and tugs his head away from mine, scanning my face. “You tell me if I’m hurting you…”
His cock stretches me so full, fits so perfectly, that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I begin.
I nod, knowing I won’t tell him. Knowing that even if he does hurt me, it would be the good kind of pain, the kind that makes me feel alive, not the kind that makes me crawl back into that bed and sob like I have so many times since I returned.
He plunges deep, hitting that perfect spot inside of me that did absolutely unholy things only a few moments ago. I clutch his neck, trying to draw him closer, even though it’s physically impossible, like my body still knows how long I went without him and doesn’t want to risk it happening again.
But it won’t.
Not again.
Neither of us will make those mistakes again.
We won’t risk losing this.
He lowers his forehead to mine as he sets a slow tempo of long, hard strokes that allow me to feel every fucking inch of him on each drive of his hips. A languid build just so he can shatter me again.
And it’s utterly divine.
Delicious torture.
Until he pulls back and lifts my left leg, pressing it up against his chest to give him a different angle, allowing him to plunge even deeper, and it feels like my soul is leaving my body with each thrust.
Every roll of his hips along my clit sends blinding electric shocks through me that fry my brain and make it impossible to do anything but just feel.
“Oh, God.”
I slide my hands to the edge of the counter for purchase, trying to keep myself steady during his more aggressive movements.
My body heats again quickly, that slow burn that he’s so good at building up already lit, but it won’t ignite, no matter how hard he drives into me, no matter how deep he goes, no matter how good he is, I need more.
But I don’t need to say a word for him to know it.
It only takes a few seconds before his hand slides up around my neck.
God, yes.
He closes those rough fingers around my throat, squeezing gently.
That grip.
The feel of his hand there.
That possessive hold on my throat.
Knowing that he is in control of everything finally allows me to float away, to find my second release.
I come on a strangled cry, my throat working against his palm.
“Fuck, yes.” His growl in my ear reverberates through my chest as he redoubles his efforts, fucking me even harder through my orgasm, drawing it out with his free hand between us, his thumb on my clit, rolling across it as he continues to pump into me.
