Page 107 of Arranged Control
“Every inch of you is perfect,” he murmurs in my ear. “I love the way you feel in my hands. The way you move on me. The noises you make. Everything about you.”
I bury my mouth against his, needing more. He senses my desire and turns me, pinning me down on the bed, my breasts spilling to either side. He licks a nipple as he peels off my panties. I moan when he goes lower, mouth kissing, nibbling, biting, sucking, until he reaches my aching core. His tongue laps up and down, the tip stiffening to spread my folds. He spends a few minutes licking and sucking my clit, driving me wild, my back arching. I keep saying his name, wanting more, wanting to erase everything else from my mind until there’s only him.
Only my husband, Seamus.
He spits into his palm, strokes himself, and glides along my entrance. I’m panting, groaning, wiggling my hips. He strokes in deep until I’m filled to the brim, and he stays there for an agonizing minute as he kisses me and whispers in my ear, praising me, telling me how good I am, how strong I am, how much he needs me.
Then he’s fucking me. Deep, hard thrusts. Not hammering, not vicious, but like he needs to feel every inch of my pussy. I digmy fingers into his back and kiss him, whimpering his name as pleasure builds in my core, glowing so bright it’s like I might spill over with it, like if I open my eyes and my mouth, light will shine out.
He pins my hands above my head and fucks me. Our rhythm builds. I’m grinding against him, begging him for more. “You have all of me now, Alina, every fucking inch of me.” And I don’t think he means just his big cock or his strong body. I think he means much more than that.
“You have me too,” I moan, overwhelmed by how badly I want him and how much this means to me. “You have me, Seamus, you have me, god, yes, you have me.”
“That’s right, princess. You’re all fucking mine. All of you is mine.”
We’re fucking now, rough and deep and perfect. Sweat shimmers on my skin. I’m dancing on the edge and my head is totally empty except for him. There’s only room for Seamus now. I cry out his name and he whispers mine, those three syllables filled with dripping, desperate need.Ah-lee-nah. Over and over.Ah-lee-nah. Ah-lee-nah.Again and again, driving deeper and deeper, until he bites my lower lip and begs me to come for him, and that finally throws me over the edge.
I shatter. God, I break. I come so hard I’m seeing stars. He stiffens between my legs and keeps going, stroking as we finish together, and by the time he’s done with me, I’m a mess of floating, happy bliss, grinning like I’ve never had a bad thought in my entire life.
He pulls me into his arms. I stay there, even though I should use the bathroom. I don’t want to move. This feels too good.
It doesn’t last.
I try not to let the bad thoughts slip back in. But as soon as I acknowledge they’re lurking at the gates of my mind, they flood through all over again, and my perfect mood darkens.
He must notice. He kisses my neck. “That wasn’t enough? You need more, princess?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Give me a few minutes.” He palms one breast and lightly teases a nipple. “Actually, more like a few seconds.”
I twist around to face him. I know he’s joking—mostly, anyway, since his dick is actually half hard already, the freaking monster—but it’s not enough.
“Why did she come back?” I whisper, feeling every word of that sentence like a hammer to my skull.
He sighs and strokes my hair. “I wish she hadn’t. It would’ve been better if she had just stayed away.”
“When I was little, I used to dream about having a relationship with my mother. I had all these complicated fantasies and stories in my head. And now she’s here, and it’s not like any of those at all. It’s so much worse.”
“That’s the problem. Reality almost never lives up to our dreams.” He pushes back a stray piece of my hair. “But she doesn’t have to hurt you.”
“What do you mean? She’s hurting everyone else.”
“I know, but that woman, she’s not really your mother.” He kisses me softly. “She gave birth to you, but that doesn’t give hera right to be in your life, not anymore. Your mother died the second she left you.”
I know he’s right. But that doesn’t make it better. “I’m afraid I’m like her. Like I inherited some psycho gene and one day I’ll wake up to find myself covered in blood.”
“If that happens, I’ll be right there with you.”
“Not if it’s your blood.”
“Don’t tease me. I’m already getting excited again.”
“Stop it, I’m being serious.”
“Whatever happened to your mother, she didn’t end up the way she is now because of genetics.”
“That happens though, right? I mean, some people are just sick.”
