Page 24 of The Fake Husband
"No! More. G-give me more."
Setting my hands on her hips, I pull her back onto my cock with each thrust, her ass hitting my hips, making me see stars.
"You're so perfect like this. Taking all of me. Such a good girl."
"River…"
"What, baby? Tell me what you need."
"Harder. I need it harder."
In a second, I stop being slow and gentle. My thrusts grow more forceful, the impact jolting her forward with each one. One hand slides up her back, then into her hair, gripping gently.
"Like this?"
"Yes. God, yes. Just like that."
Her arms start to shake with the effort of holding herself up, so I adjust immediately.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her up until her back presses against my chest. Still inside her, I palm one breast while my other hand slides down her stomach.
"You gonna come for me again?"
"I-I can't. I already did?—"
"You can." My fingers find her clit, circling the taut button. "You will."
Her head falls back against my shoulder. "River?—"
"That's it. Let me make you feel good."
Fucking up into her while my fingers work her clit and the other hand kneads her tit, every line of her is drawn tight like a wire stretched to its limit.
Her hips move instinctively, searching, chasing that rising wave.
My thrusts grow more erratic as my own orgasm builds. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around me, the tight heat nearly driving me insane. Nadine's whole body draws inward, coiling.
"So close," I growl into her ear. "I want to come with you and pump you full of my seed."
She comes first, crying out my name, her pussy clenching around me in waves. That does it. The feel of her coming undone triggers my own release. I drive in deep one final time and come hard, spilling inside her.
I bury my face against her shoulder as the last of the tension rips through me, my grip tightening reflexively at her hips. For a few seconds, there’s no thought, no control—just heat and the raw pulse of it rushing through my veins, my warm come spilling inside her.
"Fuck."
We stay like that, tangled, shaking. Her breaths come in uneven pulls beneath me. Mine answer them, just as wrecked.
When I can trust my arms again, I guide us down carefully, turning so she’s tucked against me. Her back presses to mychest, warm and damp, and I curl around her—arm sliding around her waist, palm flattening low on her stomach.
For long minutes, the only sound is our breathing gradually slowing. Eventually, I slip out of her and press a kiss to her bare shoulder, shifting so she can turn toward me.
Her hair falls across her cheek. I brush it back gently, tracing her jaw with my thumb. Her lips are swollen, her skin flushed, her eyes heavy but bright when they meet mine.
"You okay?"
She nods. "More than okay."
Nine years of wanting this woman. Nine years of imagining what it would be like.
