Page 35 of Feast

“Daddy,” she amended, sounding like she was choking on the word. “Please Daddy, please? Fuck my ass, bang my backdoor, screw my chocolate starfish—”

“Oh, my God,” he said.

—“ravage my rump, plow my Hershey highway—”

He grimaced. “Don’t say Hershey highway.”

“hump my heinie, tup my tush—”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and pulled his hips back, dragging his dick out of her ass. He hoped the movement would shut her up, but she kept going.

“—do my derrière, smash my—oh!”

His inward thrust cut off whatever she was going to say, thank God, because he could only think of one applicable word that started with ‘s’, and he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t pause—didn’t want to give her a chance to catch her breath—but immediately withdrew, stopping just before the head of his dick popped free, then moved smoothly inward again.

When it became clear that she could take it, he set caution aside and began to fuck her in earnest.

The sounds of raw, raunchy sex filled the room. The dull smack of his hips and thighs crashing into hers punctuated each inward thrust, followed closely by the sharp, wet slap of his balls swinging forward to hit her pussy. He’d used so much lube that her rectum became a slip-n-slide for his dick, the wet and sloppy sound of it delightfully filthy. Though she’d blessedly stopped talking she was far from quiet, high-pitched whimpers and cries and garbled pleas for more spilling from her lips, mingling with his grunts of pleasure.

Everything about the moment was pushing him towards orgasm, from the way she felt—warm and slick and snug around his dick, hot against his thighs and groin when he pressed against her—to the way she sounded—desperate and needy—to the way she looked, bent over in front of him with her hands flexing in the rope, grasping at air as though she needed something to hold onto.

He had to grit his teeth and dig his hands into her hips in a desperate bid to stay in control. He knew if he let himself off the leash his orgasm would be only a heartbeat or two away, and he needed her to come first. He wanted to feel it, the clutch and flutter of that smooth sheath around him, the flood of wet heat against his balls. He wanted to savor every tremor and shudder, every broken cry and plea for mercy. When she was empty, collapsed on the mattress in a puddle of lube and satisfaction, only then would he let go.

She was close, too. Her cries were hoarser now, her body beginning to lose coordination. He picked up the pace, bending his knees for leverage and driving hard so his balls slapped against her pussy with stinging force. She jerked on a gurgling cry, her hands clenching into fists, and sent dark delight flooding through him.

“You like that, don’t you, baby girl?” he ground out and wished he was fucking her missionary so he could slap her pussy and see her face. “You like the pain.”

“I hate it,” she moaned. “Give me more.”

He laughed, deep and low, and with hips still driving, draped himself over her back.

She grunted underneath him, her breath whooshing out when he settled his weight on her.

“More, where?” he whispered into her ear, nearly getting a mouthful of hair.

“I don’t know,” she panted. She turned her head to the side and rested her cheek on the bed, looking up at him with dazed and dazzled eyes. Her skin was flushed, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her lips were red and bruised, and he realized she’d been biting them.

Vowing that if they did this again itwouldbe missionary so he could do all the slapping and biting, he lowered his mouth to her shoulder. “Here?” he asked and set his teeth into her skin.

Her eyes flared with pain, flooded with pleasure, and her ass rippled around his dick.

He let her go, taking a second to admire the teeth marks he’d left behind. “Maybe here?” he suggested and shoved his hands under her, wiggling to work them between her skin and the mattress, and filled his hands with her tits. Her nipples stabbed into his palms but with her weight and his pushing them into the mattress, he couldn’t work his fingers around them. But she had very squeezable boobs so that’s what he did, kneading and mashing while she writhed under him.

“Don’t stop.” Her fingers scraped and clawed at his belly, her short nails doing zero damage but shooting his lust even higher. “Oh, God, don’t stop.”

“What do you need?” he demanded, hips driving like pistons, hands clenched on her tits. “What do you need?”

“My clit,” she choked out. “Can you reach it?”

He did a quick assessment, then shook his head. There was no way he could work his hand down there without a major shift in position and a stoppage in play, and he wasn’t going to take the time for either. “Shit out of luck, sweetheart.”

“Dammit,” she groaned, anguish and lust all but dripping from her voice. “I can’t get enough friction.”

Shit,he thought. “That’s too bad,” he crooned softly and fucked her harder. “Because I’m about to come in your hot, wet asshole.”

“No,” she moaned.

“Oh yeah,” he growled darkly, panting into her hair, and using his grip on her tits for leverage, pounded into her as hard as he dared. “I’m gonna flood this greedy little hole with my come.” He couldn’t, since the condom was in the way, but it sounded hot.

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