His lips are on my neck, my shoulders.
My hair is twisted into a spiral, swept to one side, and his hand scorches everything it contacts. Caressing me, congratulating me, as his heat irradiates my back.
I am so tightly wound, so ready for him, that my heartbeat is thundering away in my ears, forcing heavy pants from my throat as I wait. And wait. And gasp as he palms my sex from behind. I arch further for him, to him, my ass lifting and sliding back, a pitiful plea that he cruelly ignores, still taking his time to explore me at his leisure.
"If you take your hands off that chair, I will spank you, Anastasia. Do you understand?"
I nod, breathless, debating if I will test his threat. I don't.
For a brief moment, he is no longer touching me. I desperately want to turn back, to demand he resume his cruelty, but I bite my lips. I wait. This is his game; it's what he does.
He wants me to suffer before he rewards me.
But too long of a time is passing. I know he is still behind me; the same, primal instinct crackles in the air around me, colors my palette, so he's not gone anywhere. The thought of him just watching me, observing my pitiful struggling, forces a moan to fall from my lips, and I don't move my arms—I drop my head to them. I can't help myself, so I begin to move, grinding and circling my hips into the smooth wood beneath me, undulating helplessly into the air.
Finally, I hear him. One sharp intake of air, then the shuffling of fabric. My eyes flutter shut, hoping beyond a prayer that he will end this and come take me.
He doesn't—instead he goads me. Incites me with filthy words that stutter my breath, sends a flood of warmth racing over my overheated skin.
"You're so fucking sexy like this, sweetheart," I whimper at the endearment, the sound of his voice shooting a fresh ache between my legs. "Look at your curves. You look so soft and I can smell you from here," he groans. Takes a breath. "And this ass," he takes either side of my bottom into his hands, squeezing before digging his fingers in and pulling them up and apart. The movement stretches the overstimulated muscles of my inner walls, and I cry out, offering him more of me.
He utters a quiet, "Fuck," before his mouth is on me, suddenly, frantically. Fervently licking the swollen seam of sex. The abruptness of it freezes me, all of my muscles locking in place as the warning shiver of orgasm mists me with sweat. I fight it, fight it so stubbornly that tears well up in my eyes. His tongue is criminal, plunging into me and stroking and curling against my angry and pulsing walls. He doesn't touch my clitoris. Not once. Because he knows I can't help but come if he does.
Head still pressed into my arms, my eyes are shut firmly, my breaths gasping and gulping for air in hungry pulls between squeaks of abandon. The pleasure he subjects me to is too strong, rattling my tensed body as I concentrate on holding out. The vulgar sucks and pops of my flesh in his mouth dance with the hammering of my heartbeat in my ears, with my shaky, heavy breathing.
I almost rejoice when he pulls away, only giving my shoulders a brief respite from how burningly rigid I am. The feeling is short lived as he braces me, one hand steadying me, signaling me to get ready, the other guiding the heavy tip of his cock to my entrance.
That is the only warning he gives me.
In one long, unbearable movement he is inside me. All of him. Each painful, delicious inch. His groin is pressed to my ass, his hot chest against my back.
My orgasm grips me mercilessly. A blistering deluge that anchors me to the spot, broadcasting my pulse through every sensation in my body. Unbidden, I'm wailing. I know it. But I am helpless to quiet myself. The throbbing is too intense, my sex is hugging him too tightly, too frequently and greedily.
Behind me, I hear his breathing now. Angry, heavy breaths as he allows me to milk him without express permission to do so.
It feels like forever before my body comes back down, before the system-wide pulsing abates. He must notice when it does—he takes all of my hair into his hand and pulls the mass back, my head with it. His lips cover mine hungrily, passionately, swallowing my moan as I taste myself on him. And then he's moving. Thrusting into me so aggressively that our teeth click together, that the chair is thrown with his force.
The irrational need to cling to this chair, to root myself under his ministrations, is the only coherent thought in my mind. Every slam and slap of his flesh against me, into me, is so rough. Devastating. He pulls his mouth away from my own to pant in my ear. And after licking the shell of it, flicking his tongue out, his voice is a husky whisper. "You feel so fucking good. Do you feel that?"
I nod, frantic, teeth clenched. Feeling. Just feeling.
So opposite from the savagery that drives him into me, his bruising fingers gentle. The hand in my hair skates to my jaw, holding me lovingly. "I'm going to come inside of you now, Ana," he moans against me. "As deep as you can take me, baby. I want to feel every single part of you." He bends his knees, banding an arm around my middle, drilling into me from a new, mouthwatering position that has my eyes rolling back. Despite his tender words, his soft voice, he does not cease his merciless pounding. But now he encourages me through his unrelenting strokes, and his words assimilate to one gorgeous stream that strikes hot to my sensitive core, as if to a matchbox.
"I love you so much," he whispers.
"You're so beautiful.
"You feel so, so good.
"I love how you feel when I come inside of you.
"Accept me, baby.
"Give me the son, we've always wanted."
I shatter. There is nothing gentle or soft about it. It is a violent, shocking wave that crashes and crashes until I'm drowning in the pleasure, soaking the room in my decadent screams. Christian wills his words into existence as he folds one hand around my belly, thundering his thrusts until he races for his own orgasm with a guttural growl that sends a shiver down my spine, his seed pumping up into my womb with the final rocks of his hips.
A long while passes before either of us moves, before our breathing evens out. Against my back, I can feel his mouth curve into a grin, then he lifts his head to meet my curious gaze.
"Forgive me, baby. I will also accept a daughter. If she looks just like you."
I smile back at him, sliding my hands over his, over the protrusion of my stomach; ready for the spanking he's promised me.
I would give him whatever and whichever child he wanted, were it up to me. His excitement of parenthood is bringing out a side of him—along with the earth returning to my feet after such a bone bending orgasm—that makes me float with ecstasy. I haven't had time to stop and worry over which orientation the baby would gravitate to. In truth, it doesn't matter.
The life we are creating will be the beautiful byproduct of the love I feel with him.
For Him.
A/N: Thank you so much for your eyes, and your patience for this to finally complete lol. Feel free to check out my other peculiar mix of smut and slightly less smut-filled works.
Until next time~