Page 32 of Black Light: The Crossover
Tiff groaned, and then let out a desperate little squeak when he changed his angle slightly. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”
Don’t laugh. You’re a badass Dom. The Master’s Master.
“The orgasm… or your bladder?”
“Seriously?” she snapped and he let go of her throat to plant his palm in the small of her back, adding just enough weight to trigger an anxious series of desperate whines. “Luk— Sir! Please!”
“If you pee on this couch, Tiff, you’re really not going to like the punishment I come up with.”
“Then let me up!”
Lukus faked a wounded tone to his voice. “Before I come? I don’t think so. You can hold it for me.” Easing the pressure off the small of her back — because he really didn’t want to clean up piss — he switched his hold to her hips and squeezed. “It just means this is going to be a little rougher and faster than I’d planned.”
His beautiful wife’s head dropped forward, her hips wiggling as she squeezed his cock, and he rewarded her submission with a quick spank that made her gasp just before he slid back and then yanked her onto his cock again.
“Fuck!” Tiff shouted and moaned, and as he picked up a hard and fast pace, their skin clapping together in loud pops that echoed off the high ceilings of his loft, Lukus was trying to decide if his naughty wife deserved an orgasm, or if he should come now and make her plead for it on their bed.
Thinking while fucking her tight cunt was not working out, every one of her sinful sighs and needy moans fritzing the wires in his brain until all he could focus on was the next sweet drive between her thighs.
“Shit! Please! I’m—Christ!Fuck, fuck, fuck, Lukus, Sir,ohmygodfuck— Please!” she whined, every muscle in her body tensing as he made her take every inch again and again, giving special attention to the angle that made her break into new streams of profanity.
Only Tiffany could make cussing like a truck driver feel like a tongue stroking his balls while he buried himself deep and slid back just to do it again a little harder.
“Please what?” he growled.
“I need to—motherfuckingsonuva— I need to come!”
He chuckled, grabbing a handful of her hair to crane her upward and give him just a little more leverage, along with a little more pressure on her bladder. “So close, baby. You forgot the please that time.”
“PLEASE!”
“All together now,” he purred, thrusting deep. “I plan on you milking me dry, but I need to hear it first.”
“Fucking hell,” she snapped. “Will. You. Please. Fucking. Let. Me. Come.”
“Sir,” he added.
“SIR!” Tiff screamed, and if he wasn’t so close to coming inside her that he was worried the wrong exhale would set him off, he’d make her string the words together again just for fun, but he wouldn’t hold out for another round of that particular game.
“Good girl,” he praised, releasing her hair to bury that hand between her thighs, yanking her hips back into his next thrust as he sought that swollen, soaked button and rubbed it in time with each brutal drive.
He wasn’t holding back, because he couldn’t anymore, but he wanted to feel her pussy grip him, so even as that tease of electric fire buzzed down his spine and stroked at the base of his shaft, he held his breath.
“Oh my God, oh my— FUCK!” Tiffany bucked back into him, a sinful quiver running through her muscles that included exactly what he’d demanded of her, that impossibly hot feeling of her cunt milking him as he pinned her hips against the couch with his last rough thrust, and filled her.
Lukus knew he added his own mix of profanity to the blend of moans and satisfied sighs, but as the world whited out with a shock of raw ecstasy he couldn’t focus on anything but the soft flesh trapped under his fingers and the clenching waves that stroked his shaft until he was oversensitive. He was growling against her sweat-dampened skin as the world filtered back in, thewhooshof the heater pumping warm air into the loft temporarily overwhelming the desperate whines of the woman under him.
“Holy shit, Lukus… I love you. I really fucking love you, but unless you want me to pee you have got to let me up right now.”
“What? No cuddles?” He laughed when she slapped at the couch cushion, releasing a frustrated shout, but he slid free of her perfect heat and quickly started on her ankles. “Honestly, I feel like I should explain the minimum expectations for aftercare.”
“Lukus!”
“You know, baby, we do offer classes several times a month,” he continued, grinning as he walked around the couch to patiently deal with her left wrist.
“I know about aftercare!” she snapped, and he took the extra second to kiss her reddened wrist before he moved toward her right wrist.
“You sure? I’m feeling really abandoned right now. You just want to run off and leave me by myself and—”
