Page 52 of Ink Me Three Times
The car feels too small. The air too thick. Everything is fogged, blurred at the edges, except for him. The weight of his arm braced behind me, the firm grip of his other hand between my thighs, soaked and unrelenting.
I claw at his shoulders without meaning to, nails catching in his shirt, like I need something to ground me or I’ll float out of my body entirely.
And still, he doesn’t pull away.
He keeps his fingers inside me, slow now, dragging through the oversensitive mess of me with a reverent kind of rhythm that makes me whimper and twitch with every flick.
Like he wants to feel every last ripple of it.
Like he’s savoring it.
Savoring me.
I tremble, undone, overwhelmed, mouth slack, body flushed to the tips of my toes. The aftershocks roll through me in stuttering waves, leaving me raw and aching and so fucking alive I could cry.
And when he finally withdraws his fingers, slow and careful, I let out a broken breath and collapse against the seat.
Wrecked.
Ruined.
Lit up from the inside.
"Fuck," Timothy growls, watching me. "You’re so hot when you fall apart."
I’m still trembling when he shoves his jeans down just enough, breath harsh against my neck. The space between us is tight, urgent. His cock is hot and thick between us, and there’s no pause, no question, no barrier… justneed.
He grabs my hips, pulls me into his lap, and I straddle him in the narrow, steaming hot back seat, knees braced on either side, thighs shaking as I lower myself down. Slow, aching inches.
He slides in hard and deep in one perfect thrust.
I cry out, loud and ragged, as I take every inch. I swear I see stars. My walls stretch around him, greedy, clenching, desperate to keep him locked inside me.
"Damn," he groans, head falling back. "This pussy…fuck."
My hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in like I might float away without him to anchor me. I roll my hips, needy and reckless, rocking against him like I’m trying to crawl out of my own skin.
The angle is filthy, deep enough to make me ache, to make me swear he’s splitting me open and rearranging everything inside.
He grips my ass with both hands, spreading me wider, using me, guiding my rhythm with bruising control as he thrusts up into me with sharp, possessive snaps of his hips.
"You were made for this," he grits out. "You weremadefor me."
"Yes," I gasp, voice wrecked. "Yes… please, don’t stop."
"Not gonna stop," he growls, "until I fuck the smart mouth right off your face."
Iwhimper. Actually whimper.
And that gets his attention.
His eyes go darker. His mouth curves into something feral.
"Ohhh," he laughs, low and hot. "That’swhat does it for you."
I try to shake my head, to deny it, but he thrusts up again, deep and merciless, and I cry out… a strangled, needy sound that betrays everything.
"You like this," he says, voice velvet wicked. "You like being taken.Used. You want to be good… but fuck, baby, youloveit when I’m not gentle."
