I felt his hands clench my flesh before he demanded, “Finger to your clit, baby. Make yourself come while I fuck your ass.”
I nearly slid off the front of the couch as I hurried to do what I was told and my whole body was quaking, ready, fevered. I felt the sleek, oil-slickened head of his cock prod, push, slow, firm, back, then more, gentle, careful until he pushed through with the tip then he slid slowly all the way in and he had me. Every bit of me. The one last part he didn’t have yet was now Creed’s.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful everywhere,” he groaned as he started fucking my ass. “Harder baby. Take yourself there.”
I pressed harder, deeper, rolled, bucked, reared into his smooth, deep strokes, his hands curled around my hips pulling me to him, pushing me away at the same time holding me steady on the couch.
It built and, God, it was too much. It was too huge. I couldn’t take it. It was burning through me. It was going to consume me.
“Creed,” I panted into the couch, panic rising as the pleasure swelled. Wild, uninhibited pleasure that felt like it was going to destroy me and I lifted up onto a hand in the couch, arm straight.
“Work yourself, Sylvie,” Creed grunted, going faster, getting impatient, one hand slid around my hip to cover mine between my legs, he pushed in, rolled then twitched our fingers as he kept at my ass and it overwhelmed me.
My head shot back, my muscles seized and my cry pierced the room as I experienced the most intense, overpowering, extraordinary orgasm I’d ever had in my life.
It kept hold of me as Creed kept fucking me, his fingers kept at my clit and one orgasm rolled into another. I was on my third when Creed’s other arm sliced around the front of my hips, pulling me to him, burying himself inside me and I heard his deep, rumbling groan.
I kept still, staring unseeing at the couch, feeling him around me, inside me, never thinking this would be good, never thinking I’d allow this, not again, not ever and there it was. Like everything with Creed, I gave him my trust, he gave me beauty.
Slowly and carefully, he slid out then I was up and turned, knees back in the back of the couch, facing Creed. I barely got my head tipped back to look up at him before the fingers of both his hands drove into the sides of my hair and back, fisting and his face dipped close so his nose nearly brushed mine and he was all I could see.
“Now I have all of you. I own every inch of you. Every centimeter. You gave it to me when you were six and it took me twenty-eight years to claim all of it but now it’s mine, Sylvie. Every…” his fingers gave my hair a gentle tug, “single…” another tug and his eyes burned into mine, “inch.”
Holy shit. How could he be turning me on mere minutes after I had the hugest multiple orgasm in the history of time?
“I take it you really like ass play,” I noted softly and watched his eyes flare.
Then his head shifted back, his hands slid down to the sides of my neck and he announced, “I’m gonna go deal with this condom. You’re gonna go to bed. Take the oil with you. We are far from done.”
Excellent.
That gave me a full body shiver.
I grinned before I reached up, grabbed his head, pulled it down to me and laid a hot, wet, long one on him.
I let him go, jumped to my feet on the couch, jumped from the couch to the floor, snatched up the oil and dashed out of the room, my hair flying out behind me, knowing, every second, Creed’s eyes watched.
*
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I cried as my sixth orgasm of the night tore through me, my fingers clenched in Creed’s hair as his mouth devoured me.
Seriously, my man was the master of giving head.
Seriously.
As I came down, I felt him nuzzling my belly with his nose and lips. I lifted up on my elbows and saw while I was still in the throes of my climax, he’d swung my legs off his shoulders and now he had his forearms in the bed on either side of me but my hands were still clenched in his hair.
I tugged gently and his head came up.
I drank him in.
Scar and all, he was beautiful.
To tell him this I slid the fingers of one of my hands to his face, running the tips along his cheekbone, down his nose to trail the path of the line of his lower lip. I trailed them over the scar on his upper lip then up again over the scar on his cheekbone, his temple and through the white streak in his hair. Once I’d accomplished this, my other hand slid the hank of hair that had fallen to his forehead to the side and, as expected, it fell right back to its original position.
I didn’t get to try again as Creed’s big body shifted up over me, settling in, covering me.