Page 122 of Hellbent
And I come so hard it splits me apart.
White-hot.
But he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going, coaxing a second orgasm out of me before I can even breathe.
“I could do that for hours,” he rasps, climbing back over me. “But right now, I need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I gasp, hands trembling as I reach for him. “Please—”
He shoves his jeans down, freeing himself, the hard, heavy weight of him hot against my inner thigh. He fists his cock, lining himself up at my entrance. But he doesn’t push inside—not yet.
Instead, he brushes my hair back, the tenderness at odds with the tension rippling through every muscle in his body.
“Maxwell Finch,” he whispers, voice ragged, “if I ruin everything to keep you, so fucking be it.”
Then he sinks into me slowly, inch by exquisite inch, until he's buried deep.
A sob catches in my throat. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close.
He moves slowly at first, hips rolling in a gentle rhythm, eyes locked onto mine, intense and beautiful and intimate in a way that makes it hard to breathe. His strong jaw flexes with effort, eyes blazing raw and fierce. He looks devastating like this, so powerful and yet completely vulnerable.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More,” I beg.
He groans and quickens the pace, sliding harder and deeper, eyebrows knitted, lips parted as heavy breaths fall against my skin.
One hand fists in my hair, pulling me toward him as the other hooks under my knee, opening me wider, taking me deeper.
He presses his lips to my ear, his voice rough, heated with need. “Say you’re mine.”
“Yes,” I moan breathlessly. “Ryder—yes—I’m yours.”
He growls, slamming into me so forcefully the headboard bangs against the wall.
Pleasure spirals tight as he thrusts inside of me, his movement brushing my clit, his girth rubbing every inch of me. My nails dig into his skin, feeling his muscles ripple beneath my fingers. His breath becomes as ragged as mine, until we’re panting in unison, and seconds before my orgasm hits I feel it like the most incredible squeeze, every part of my body contracting before I scream out, release washing over me, stars exploding behind my eyelids.
“Yes,” he gasps against my skin. “Oh God, that’s it.”
I melt into the mattress, my pussy pulsing as he fucks me, ripples of sensation rolling out from my center as I catch my breath.
He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing deep into me, as hard as he can, breath stuttering and then catching. And then he pulls out, sweeps an arm underneath me, and flips me onto my stomach.
A laugh punches out of me at how quickly he moves me, how easily, but he responds by yanking my hips upward and growling like an animal. Then he’s pushing into me again, and my laughter evaporates, replaced by moaning as his cock hits me at a new angle.
His hand knots tightly in my hair, pulling my head back, and I arch back, every atom of my attention focused on the growing ache that his thrusts both relieve and cause.
“Oh fuck,” I moan. “That’s so good.” My fingers grip the sheets, pulling handfuls like I’m climbing up the bed. “Oh fuck, just like that.”
He thrusts harder, driving me forward until he pins me flat against the mattress. His body covers mine, chest to back, skin slick with sweat, burying himself deep inside.
He moves with raw, primal urgency, grunting with each pumping motion, and then his pace shifts. Harder, faster, desperate.
His grip on my hips is enough to bruise me as he slams into me, once, twice—three times, and his entire body locks up.
A wild cry tears from his throat as his cock jerks inside of me, his forehead pressed hard against my shoulder.
“Fuck!” he gasps. “Fuck—Max—”
