Page 3 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
His combined touch, in me and on me, is almost too much, stimulating my now-hypersensitive flesh. I groan raggedly, bucking under him as he guides me unerringly to the cusp of yet another climax.
“You brute,” I mumble, “you’re trying to kill me. Death by orgasm.”
“There are worse ways to go.”
“I’ll get you back for this,” I vow, my eyes on his as I hold back the writhing pressure of the most powerful orgasm yet. “I’ll tie to you a bed and have my way with you until you beg me to stop.”
“You’re welcome to try,” he says with a smirk. “But I’m forty-five, sweetheart. My refractory period isn’t what it used to be, so that may take a while.”
“You—oh, oh-Jesus-have-mercy—you have the refractory period of a twenty-one-year-old porn star, so don’t play coy with me, Franco.” I was in the grip of it, now, still trying to hold it off, draw it out, get the most out of it.
He’s relentless, not allowing me to hold out for very long. This time, though, he stops when I’m riding the edge, just when I feel a scream starting to bubble up inside me. He doesn’t stop for long—just slips his hand away from me, lets go of my wrists, grabs me by the waist and tosses me onto my belly in a single effortless flip. He immediately pounces, snatching my wrists up again and pinning them behind my back with one hand. He nudges his knees between my thighs, forcing me to spread apart, and then his other hand dives between my belly and the bed and tugs my hips upward in a quick jerk, leaving my the upper half of my body pressed down against the mattress and my ass in the air.
Seconds have passed since his fingers were pushing me to the edge of climax, and in those seconds I’ve drawn away from the cusp, but now I’m right there again as he thrusts in, his massive organ splitting me apart with a sudden stinging ache that sears a breathless gasp out of me. His hips slap against my ass as he pounds deep, and I’m filled and throbbing, the climax ramping up inside me hotter and harder and huger than anything yet. I’m helpless, my breasts smashed against the bed, my butt in the air, my hands pinned behind my back in a firm, unbreakable, yet gentle grip.
A scream rips through me as he drives against me, suddenly hard and fast, each stroke striking the tip of his cock against my G-spot until I’m wild with the furious climax shattering me like a porcelain vase dropped on a marble floor.
He doesn’t slow as I come, but his thrusts aren’t as hard, just fast and deep, his hips smacking against me loudly.
I can’t stop myself from screaming, each stroke sending further piercing pangs of pleasure spearing through me, driving me past orgasm into something else unquantifiable as a mere climax.
God, oh god—this is why I’ve spent the last many hours in bed with this man, because it’s like this every time.
Shit, shit, shit—just when I think he’s nearly done, he’s going to come and it’ll be over, just when I think it’s impossible for me to come anymore, he pauses in his thrusting and lets go of my wrists. He lifts me upright so we’re both up on our knees, him behind me, still inside me, our breathing matched in ragged synch. He guides one of my hands down to where we’re joined, leaving the other one free.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “One more.”
“I can’t—I can’t.”
“I need to feel you come once more, with me.” He powers up into me, his breath and voice in my ear, hot and intense. “Touch yourself, Audra.”
I wrench my hand free of his grip and reach up to tangle both my hands in his long, loose blond hair, clutching at it behind his head, arching my back as I lift up and sink down on him. I hope he doesn’t think orders will work on me. I’ll let him toss me around, because that’s hot AF, but I don’t do orders. He’ll learn.
Or, maybe he won’t, because this is probably it for us.
I don’t need to touch myself, anyway. Just him, like this, is enough. Which is crazy, because it usually takes a hell of a lot more than that to make me come, especially when I’m on my fourth in less than twenty minutes.
Oh, holy fuck, here we go…
He grasps at my breasts with both hands, using them as leverage to drive into me, holding them in place, rough palms scratching my hardened nipples. Harder, harder, his breath in my ear, his grunts ragged and increasingly breathless.
I rise and fall, reaching up and back to hold on to the back of his head, feeling him slide through me, splitting me apart and slamming into me loudly, wetly. A scream escapes from me as the first tremors of my next climax shear through me, this one nuclear in comparison to the ones that preceded it. He’s tireless, a feral tiger, snarling in my ear, and my ability to hold to the rise-and-fall rhythm of our union stutters, and his grip on my breasts is all that holds me upright.
