Page 65 of SINS & Riley
“Take your time, Pom.”
I freeze, blinking up at him. Thrown completely off because for a second, I swear, there wasn’t a trace of a Russian accent.
The first slide of my tongue over him is timid. I’m not sure what to expect, but he tastes so good.
I go for the gusto, and take him at once.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
The first few pumps are brutal, stretching, choking.
Tears sting instantly.
I do what I always do when hit with physical pain. I lean into it. Sucking noises surround us.
“That’s it, Pom.”
He keeps stroking my hair, thumb brushing slow circles at my cheek, grounding me.
I take him in so deep, I nearly gag.
“That’s my good, dirty girl. Breathe through it.”
I love his words. That I’m good. And his dirty girl. His words burn hotter than the stretch of him.
The pillow isn’t soft—too overstuffed, heavy with down, the kind that props up a rich man’s headboard. But here, on the floor, it’s the perfect size to rub against.
My knees straddle it, sinking deep, thighs spreading over its edge. He shifts it just enough, angling it so the seam drags straight against my clit.
“Ride it.” His hips thrust once, wrapped in so much control he’s trembling. Heat coils low in my belly. “Grind on it while you choke on me, dirty girl.”
Jesus, the way this man talks.
The sound leaves me in a shiver. My hips tilt forward, dragging across the pillow. I’m already soaked.
Pressure sparks against my clit—a fuse catching flame.
We fall into a rhythm. His cock stretching my mouth, my hand stroking his girth, my clit rubbing against the seam until the friction blends into something other worldly.
Every scrape, every grind pulls me tighter, sharper, closer. Euphoria builds in a way that’s brutal and exquisite all at once.
His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me down, not cruel but unyielding. Just raw need.
I give in. Stroking. Grinding. Gagging. My whole body lit, every nerve blazing.
A low, guttural groan rips through him. His hips flex once before locking tight, every muscle straining.
It’s like watching a man wrestle himself from full submission, both hands clenched on the reins, holding back a stampede of desire.
And I know he’s doing that for me.
The thought detonates inside me. I don’t know if I want to scream or shatter.
He looks down at me, eyes dark and unrelenting, while I choke on him, tears streaming. His stare burns so hot it borders on pain. “You look fucking perfect like this, Pom.”
A strangled hum vibrates from my throat, muffled around him. Shame. Need. Fury. Lust. I don’t even know what I am anymore.
All I know is this: I’m grinding against his pillow with his cock buried so deep in my throat, I can barely breathe.
