“You want it like this?” He slides into me with exquisite gentility, masterful slowness. Once, twice. So slow, so tender. “Or . . . like this?”
He pulls out. Straightens. Palms my cheeks and kisses me, desperately, fiercely, unendingly. I cannot breathe for the demanding eroticism of the kiss, the way he owns my mouth and dominates my breath and takes over my entire soul and mind and body with just his mouth, his lips and tongue.
I am abruptly airborne. There is no warning, no transition. Just a release of my hands, and his palms under my buttocks and my legs winding automatically around his trim waist.
“FUCK!” I scream. The vulgar epithet is ripped out of me.
He is in me, crashing into me. The moment I left the ground, his cock slammed up into me with sudden power and I was left utterly breathless at the sudden onslaught, his erection stretching me to a sweet burn. He lifts me again, and then lowers me. This time, it is gentle. A reminder, I think.
“Like this?” he asks. Demanding an answer.
“No,” I whisper.
His teeth nip and pluck at my skin, biting the flesh on the slope of my breast, at the side of my neck, worrying my nipple with searing roughness. He grips my buttocks in his hands and spreads me apart and lifts me up and lowers me, once more, gently. Thrusting into me, gently.
He slams his mouth onto mine with a sharp slash of teeth on lip and his tongue slashes mine and he . . .
There is no other word for it:
He fucks me.
His hips flex and his cock pounds into me roughly. His hands grip my ass with bruising force, splaying me wide so he can fuck deeper. And then his mouth leaves mine and finds my breasts. My tits. He laves them, licks them, not just my nipples but the slope and the undersides and my areolae, licking and kissing. All the while, he plunders me roughly, almost savagely.
“Like this?” he asks, his voice dark and guttural. Rougher than it has ever been.
“Yes, Logan, god yes.” I cling to his neck, his shoulders. “Don’t stop. Keep—keep fucking me just like this.” I feel a bolt of embarrassment when that slips out of me, but then Logan makes a low grumbling growl and suckles my nipple harder and his cock drives into me harder, and I feel a blast of pride.
Oh, so perfect. This. I bury my hands in his hair, grip it tight and hold on. I ride him. I let myself go. Lean back to brace against the wall and moan wantonly, drive my hips against his, seek more and more and more. Ride him furiously, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging his mouth against my tits, encouraging him to suck and bite and lick them yet more. When his teeth pinch sharply at my nipple, I yelp breathily, and he does it again, taking my nonverbal encouragement for what it is.
I savor each fragment of sensation: his mouth wild on my tits, his cock sliding into me, stretching me, his hands clenching my buttocks so hard I’ll have marks later—which I’ll treasure, I must be sure to tell him—lifting me up and lowering me down, doing so harder and harder with each thrust, until my clit is bumping against his base just so, and I’m crying out nonstop, whimpering in his ear, sobbing my ecstasy to the ceiling.
There is no stopping my orgasm. It is a freight train barreling through me, the earth splitting open under me. I cannot tamp the scream that erupts. I writhe on him, grip his hair so hard I know it must hurt but he only growls like the wolf he is, hard and lean and primal and fierce.
“Logan—Logan . . . oh my fucking god, Logan . . .”
“Touch your *, Isabel. Right now, while you’re coming all over me.” He growls this into my ear.
I wrap one hand around his neck and lean back. He does the same, allowing some room between our joined bodies. His hands lift me, press my ass up and forward, and he continues to surge up into me, demonstrating incredible, breathtaking power and stamina. I reach between our bodies and touch my middle and ring fingers to my clit, just a touch at first. I groan and feel my still-undulating, clenching climax twist and ratchet higher, hotter, harder. God, this. I know exactly how to make myself come hard and fast. So I do. I find the perfect pressure, the perfect circling rhythm. Logan thrusts into me, and I’m whimpering now, sweat sliding down my temple and between my breasts.
Electricity, lighting heat; there are not enough synonyms for the power that flows through me. I come immediately, and it is as if I am being turned inside out, ripped open and spread apart and tangled up. I feel Logan beneath me and in me and around me, his teeth on my nipples and his hands on my ass and his cock inside my * and his hard body blocking out anything but him, anything but us, anything but this climax like a galaxy of stars going nova all at once.
I don’t slow or stop, and neither does he.