“Fuck, Liberty.” My grip tightens in her strands. A whimper strangles my cock, not in hunger, but pain. Instantly, I release my hold on her, but her suction stays strong, regaining back her control. It only takes two minutes—or maybe it’s a few seconds—but after a few perfect strokes, she finds a flawless rhythm and the tell-tale signs of an impending orgasm start to rock through me.
“Jesus, sweetheart. I’m not sure you want to keep doing that,” I warn, trying not to ram my cock down the back of her throat and blow my load before we get to where I need things to go. She doesn’t heed my warning; instead, she opts to suck harder, suck wilder. I last barely another minute when a soft moan from her lips vibrates down my shaft and through my balls, setting off one of the hardest releases I’ve ever had. Warmth fills my bones, noise fills my head, and by the time I’ve finished releasing the last drop of cum, my dick is ready for round two.
“You better be ready to go again, big boy.” She releases my cock from her mouth with a pop, looks up at me with the widest, most innocent eyes to ever fall upon me, and I know instantly, my normal one-time deal isn’t going to cut it.
Twelve
Liberty
I wake the following morning with an unexpected fright. A heavy weight covers my body. My hands are pinned above my head and Hetch is resting his thick, condom-clad cock between my naked legs.
Oh, shit.
Images of the previous night flick through my subconscious.
Sucking Hetch’s beautiful cock on the sofa.
Hetch returning the favor—eating me out with the same need I was feeling, before finally carrying me down to my bed and fucking me in ways I’ve never been fucked.
“Morning, sweetheart.” His morning voice is gruff, almost husky, breaking through the sudden onset of regret rolling through me.
Oh, my God, it all happened.
“Ahh, morning.” I try to lift my hands from his grasp, but his fingers tighten, letting me know we’re gonna play this his way.
“How are you feeling today?” His eyes land on my torso, searching for any signs I’m in any pain.
While sex with Hetch did cause some discomfort last night, it wasn’t enough to make me cry out in pain.
“Better if I had the use of my hands,” I answer, trying to break his hold on me, proving my movements aren’t as limited as they were three days ago.
“You won’t be needing them right now.” He skillfully removes one hand, while keeping both my hands secured with his other.
“Is that right?” I buck again, hoping to knock him off kilter, but the truth is he’s too heavy, and I’m barely trying hard enough.
“Mmhmm.” The smug bastard smirks the devilish grin I love to hate before taking his cock in his free hand and running the thick head through my lips, then slapping it down on my clit.
“Ahh.” My back arches off the bed at the pleasurable sting. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I’m not sure if I’m pissed he’s restraining me or pissed he’s not giving me what I want.
“Fucking you the way I want,” he teases. My stomach clenches at his dirty promise.
“And you didn’t fuck me last night?” A thrill rolls up my spine and heat pools between my legs when his dangerous dimples make an appearance.
“Oh, babe. I fucked you. But last night was your way. Now I know you’re not in pain, I’m gonna give you a taste of my way.” He slaps my clit with his dick a second time while tightening his grip on my wrists.
“Your way?” From what I remember of last night, which is everything, I know he fucked me his way. Multiple times.
“Yeah, my way.” He changes strategy and goes back to running the head of his cock through my wet folds.
“What if I said I don’t like your way?” I raise my hips, seeking more friction. We both know I want his way, but I’m not going to make it easy for him.
“Then I would call you a liar.” He slaps my clit one final time before driving into me in one unforgiving stroke. Air leaves my lungs in a harsh cry. His thickness fills and hits the one spot I didn't realize existed until Hetch introduced it to me.
“Fuck, Liberty.” He pulls out slowly, only to drive back into me. “So fucking good.”
“Yeah.” I think I sigh, meeting each thrust with raw need. He’s not wrong; it feels good. Better than good, it feels amazing. “Is it always like this?” The question burns on my lips, but I don’t have a second to worry about it before Hetch’s controlled strokes become more savage.
Harder. Faster. More brutal.
My * clenches each time he slams back into me.
Harder. Faster. More brutal.
My breath hitches each time he pulls out of me.
Harder. Faster. More brutal.
It's never been like this before. Never so intense. Never so raw.
Hetch keeps his pace, my hands firmly locked in his grasp as he fucks me his way.
Harder. Faster. More Brutal.
I want to reach for him, glide my fingers through his hair, and pull back each time he strokes more pleasure from me, but his hold on me stays strong.
“Hetch,” I pant as the start of my orgasm builds. “Let me touch you,” I try to order, but I know it’s more a pathetic plea than a demand.
“No.”