Page 128 of Babies for the Big Shot
He rises to his feet in front of me as I roll onto my back, towering, cock flushed and slick, glistening with pre-come, a dark, almost dangerous hunger carved into every tense line of his body.
His hand strokes himself slowly as he stares down at me. I’m the altar he’s about to worship at and desecrate in the same breath.
“On your knees,” he says roughly. “Now.”
My heart stutters.
My thighs are still shaking, arms trembling, but I scramble to obey. He helps me, gently but firmly, guiding me off the couch until I’m kneeling on the plush rug beneath him—body still bare, still glowing from orgasm, still open for more.
He fists my hair and tilts my face up. Not cruel. Not rough. Just his.
“You look wrecked,” he murmurs, voice shredded. “Completely undone.”
I whimper, licking my lips. “You’re still hard.”
A slow, sinful smile curves across his face. “That’s becauseI’mnot done.”
He strokes his cock faster now, standing over me, a god made of muscle and sin, jaw tight, breath ragged.
“You gonna let me mark you, baby?” he growls. “Gonna let me come all over that beautiful body?”
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless, eyes wide. “Hell, yes.”
That’s all it takes.
With a harsh groan, he throws his head back and explodes, hot, thick ribbons of come painting my breasts, my collarbone, my stomach.
His hips jerk as he finishes, grunting my name through gritted teeth, a prayer and a curse. His release hits my skin in hot pulses, and I swear to God, I feel every drop like a brand.
I moan at the feeling. At the sight of him losing control. At the claim in it.
By the time he exhales, long and low, I’m trembling again, needy again.
He looks down at me with something primal in his eyes.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re a masterpiece.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, cupping my jaw, smearing a bit of his release across my skin with his thumb.Then he leans in and kisses me, thanking me for letting him lose himself. For letting him mark me in this way.
When he pulls back, his voice is ragged velvet.
“Next time, I’m tying you up and coming on your thighs.”
My breath catches.
“Why?” I ask, dazed and aching.
His smirk is wicked. “Because I like seeing my mess on what’s mine.”
And all I want is to be messy for him forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Nick
I waketo the sound of snoring.
Soft. Rhythmic. Not quite chainsaw level, but with just enough drama to suggest someone’s fighting for their life in a dream.
