Page 83 of One Secret

'You can. You can take all of me. You're doing it.'

'I want it faster.'

'And I want you losing your mind,' he says before teasing me with a kiss. 'I want you to forget everything but me. Everything except this room. What I'm doing to you. How it makes you feel.'

'Amazing. It makes me feel amazing.'

Cyrus teases kisses along my collarbone, sucking on the skin and taunting me with his teeth.

'This is only round one, baby.'

Dear God...

'How many rounds are there?' I breathe.

'As many as I need...' he growls.

'To cum?'

'To make you scream.'

Holy shit.

Slowly, Cyrus answers my prayers and picks up the pace. His thrusts move from glacial to merely slow, from slow to eager, from eager to rapid. It happens gradually, building my sensitivities, amping up my pleasure. By the time he's working me properly, propelling his hips at his normal rhythm, I'm on the brink already. It takes only a few swift thrusts to send me over the edge and falling into a swirling orgasm so powerful it almost chokes me.

Cyrus is still as I cum, watching me release with a stare so close and so intimate that it heightens everything. Turns everything deeper and sweeter.

When I can breathe again, I'm surprised to find him still hard and solid inside me.

'You didn't...?'

'I told you, baby... this is all about you.'

And, to my disbelief, Cyrus does it all, all over again. The thick and slow love-making that sends me out of my mind with sexual impatience. Then the gradual increase, the steady build. All the way up to tensing muscles, undulating releases, and euphoric fireworks.

And then he goes again.

'Cyrus, I can't...' I'm panting as he begins his torturous pattern all over.

'Can't what, baby?'

'How many times are we going to...?'

'I told you,' he growls in the darkness, nibbling at my shoulder. 'As many times as I need... to make you scream.'

By my third orgasm, Cyrus has his goal. I cry out in rapture as my release tears through me. After this morning and now this onslaught of unspeakable pleasure, my inner walls are hyper-sensitive, bruised, and tender. It elevates everything. Makes every slow thrust a soothing massage, every heavy pound a lesson in pleasure-pain.

Every release a new height of intensity.

By orgasm five, I'm half-blind. By my sixth I'm ready to cry uncle.

Only on my seventh does Cyrus show any kind of mercy.

My legs have fallen to the carpet, my muscles have no strength. My inner walls are so hot and delicate that the slightest friction sparks orgasmic aftershocks along my system. Tears have flooded my temples and hair. I can't breathe. I can only sob, lost to the sensations of absolute ecstasy.

Cyrus is slick with sweat, his breath a hot panting above me, his hair slick to his brow. His eyes are like fire, the muscles of his back and legs quivering like a thoroughbred stallion in the stocks.

'Please...' I babble to Cyrus, to the Gods, to whomever. 'Please, I can't anymore...'

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