He didn’t stop once we caught our breath. His hands were still on me, palms rough, sliding over my thighs, my hips, my stomach, as if he couldn’t get enough. My body was trembling under him, slick with sweat, but the second his fingers gripped my jaw and tilted my face up to him, my pulse spiked again.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low, rough, a command.
I met his eyes, dark, hungry, and felt my stomach twist in a way that was almost pain. He smirked, then slammed his hips back into mine in one brutal, perfect thrust. I cried out, grabbing at his shoulders, nails biting his skin.
“You still want more?” he growled against my mouth, every word punctuated with another hard, deep stroke.
“Yes,” I gasped, barely able to breathe. “Don’t stop.”
He chuckled, dark and pleased, then yanked me up
