Page 78 of Boss of Me
He pulls back, his cobalt eyes glittering with raw lust. “Now, Marlowe,” he growls. “NowI’m going to fuck you.”
I nearly wail with relief when he picks me up and carries me back into the bathroom, where he nimbly climbs into the massive tub and lowers us into the steaming water.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and straddle him, gasping at the blunt press of his cock at my opening. “Oh God. I’m not gonna make it.”
“Yes, you are,” he rumbles, firmly gripping my hips. “You’ve been such a good girl, Marlowe. Hold on a little longer. Go the distance with me.”
Sadist,I silently curse him as I rise up on my knees, reaching down to grasp his thick erection. Our eyes lock as he lowers me onto him, groaning with husky satisfaction.
Stretched to aching fullness, I can’t move for a moment, can only lean forward with my face pressed against his shoulder.Nothing has ever felt more perfect than the way this man stretches me. Fills me to overflowing.
Gripping my ass cheeks with both hands, he begins lifting me up and down his cock in a slow, mind-blowing rhythm. I’m swollen and sensitive from being tortured for so long. As a tremble racks my body like a foreshock, I clutch Gunner’s shoulders and close my eyes, moaning at the slick heat of him rubbing every nerve ending inside my pussy.
“Look at me,” he commands.
The moment I obey, the scorching need in his eyes nearly unravels me on the spot.
“Gunner.” My voice breaks on his name. “Please . . . I can’t?—”
“Shh . . . just a little bit more.” He kisses my neck and jaw before his mouth covers mine, wet and hungry. I kiss him back, my nails digging into his shoulders as a tidal wave of erotic tension swells inside me. When he reaches between our bodies to rub my engorged clit, the luscious friction makes me keen in ecstasy.
He thrusts up into me, taking complete control. He’s not slow or gentle, and I don’t want him to be. I want the brutal penetration as he slams himself inside me again and again, each stroke grinding my clit against his cock and sending shockwaves of pleasure zinging through me.
“So good, Marlowe. So fucking good.” He sucks deeply on my breast, his tongue stroking the tight flesh of my nipple.
“Yes,” I sob with need as my head falls back, damp hair tumbling to my ass. “Please, please, please, I can’t?—”
“Soon, angel.” He pounds in and out of me, the hot water slapping against our bodies and sloshing over the tub’s rim. I hold on tight, my breath fracturing into gasps as my pussy squeezes around his cock, milking him with every thrust. I’m so close to the edge, chasing exquisite relief.
“You’re mine, Marlowe,” he growls in my ear. “Your sweet pussy is mine, your sexy ass, your gorgeous tits, your smart fucking mouth. You belong to me, every fucking inch, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“I won’t,” I gasp, half delirious. “I promise.”
“Good girl. I’m going to let you come now.” The words are barely out of his mouth before I’m climaxing, screaming his name as my walls convulse around him. The pleasure is so intense, the relief so dizzying, I think I might pass out.
I’m still coming on his dick when he erupts with a guttural shout, pressing his mouth against my neck as he pumps hot ropes of cum deep inside me.
We remain like that for several minutes, panting and plastered wetly together. When he sinks his teeth into my skin, I shiver before dropping my head weakly onto his shoulder, completely drained.
After a few more minutes, I murmur contentedly, “We should fight more often. The makeup sex is outta this world.”
Gunner’s smoky chuckle is sex personified. “All we do is fight.”
“Yourfault.”
He nips my shoulder in retaliation.
The quick sting makes me gasp and then moan as his soft lips dance over my skin, teasing and caressing.
I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this man. And that’s totally fine by me.
Chapter Eighteen
marlowe
Afterward we lay wrapped up ina blanket on a big plush rug in his sitting room. The only light comes from the low fire crackling in the stone fireplace.
Gunner holds me in his arms, my head cradled against his warm chest. We’re both quiet, listening to the soft strains of Tchaikovsky’sSouvenir de Florence. I’ve never been with a man who shares my appreciation for classical music. But then, Gunner Ransom is no ordinary man. He’s older, wiser and far more experienced than me. He’s seen worlds and traveled to places I can only dream about. Being with him is thrilling. Intoxicating. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
