Page 113 of Bullet
“I think you have forgotten who is in control in this relationship. Should I remind you?”
Yes.
I don’t give in easily, though.
“No reminder needed. We all know it’s the pussy that controls things.”
I hear his jeans button pop before he slides his own jeans down his legs. I glance in the mirror, watching as he puts the condom on before lining up behind me.
“You’ll regret that,” he tells me before he thrusts into me in one go.
I arch my back into the pleasure, loving the feel of being so full of him. If I could, I would make him wear me like a koala bear with his cock buried deep inside of me at all times.
Alas, that is not acceptable.
All thoughts leave my head as he grabs my hair, pulling me back so he can kiss me. His free hand slides around my throat, squeezing lightly.
“Who owns you?”
I gasp before I meet his eye in the mirror. “You do.”
“Who am I to you?” he growls.
“My old man,” I answer without hesitation.
“And who is in control?”
I can feel my orgasm coming as I yell, “I am.”
He stops suddenly, my pussy desperately trying to chase that high, but with zero movement, it evades me.
“Jacob,” I growl at him.
“Who is in control?” he asks again, his hand moving to my clit.
“I am, of course,” I tease him, attempting to grind back against him.
He smacks my ass, making it sting, but then he rubs it, making it tingle.
“I’ll ask one last time. Answer wrong and you won’t be getting an orgasm until tomorrow.” He growls. “Who.” Smack. “Is.” Smack. “In.” Smack. “Control?”
At the last smack, my pussy quivers. It wants what he is promising. It needs that release. While he is always good at making me come, I miss having his cock inside of me. I will always be a brat to him, but for tonight, I concede.
“You are, Jacob. You control me. You own me,” I pant out.
“Good girl,” he says, rubbing the red marks I have no doubt are on my ass.
Without another word, he begins to fuck me into the counter. I press back against him, meeting him for every thrust. I need the release I’m chasing. I feel like if I don’t get it, I won’t make it another moment.
I can feel myself on the edge. About to come when it finally happens. My pussy flutters around him wildly as he continues to rut into me.
This is more than making love. This isn’t even fucking. This is raw passion bleeding into one another. An utter devotion that cannot be matched.
I let my head rest against the counter as the aftershocks of my orgasm keep me in a blissful daze. He finally comes, leaning over me to whisper in my ear.
“You’re my angel. Always my angel.”
The words are a balm to my soul. They remind me of why I’m still alive.
