Page 88 of Filled

I pull back and slam home and she cries out and her nails go into my shoulder and any pretense I had about being careful with her dies right there.

I fuck her hard. I fuck her like I have been thinking about doing since she ground herself on me Monday morning. My hand comes up under her jaw, thumb against the side of her throat, and I look at her, offering her the same out that she offered me. She nods, eyes wet, mouth open, and I wrap my fingers firmly around her throat.

Not tight. Just enough. Just enough that she feels it, that her breath catches, that her pupils grow wider.

“Good girl.”

The sound she makes at such simple praise is intoxicating.

I drive into her, the couch rocking under us, and I let go of her throat long enough to flip her.

“Up. Hands and knees. On the couch.”

She scrambles to obey. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, ass up. Then she looks over her shoulder at me like she has never seen me before. Maybe she hasn’t. Maybe nobody has.

I get behind her, line up again, push back in. My hand comes down on her ass before I’ve made the decision to do it. The slap seems to echo in the small room.

“You like that?” I rasp.

“Yes, yes! again!”

I do it again. Other cheek. Pink blooming under my palm. She drops to her elbows and arches her back deeper and I fist her hair and pull her head up by it and start to fuck her in earnest.

“This what you wanted? Hmm? All week, grinding on me, letting me feel how wet you were. This what you were after?”

“Yes, it’s so good.”

“Could’ve just asked, angel.”

“Fuck, Brady!”

“Knew you’d be like this, desperate and slutty for me.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s aggressive, cruel almost. “I knew if I touched you once I wasn’t going to be able to stop.”

I let go of her hair, get my hand around her throat from behind, and squeeze just enough as I pull her upright onto my cock, her back to my chest, both of us on our knees on the couch. My other hand splays low on her belly applying pressure, holding her down on me as I grind up into her slow and deep and she shudders against me. Her head falls back on my shoulder.

“Look at you.” My mouth at her ear. “Taking my dick like you’re starving for it.”

“Please.”

“Please what?” I ask.

“Please don’t stop. Never stop,” she murmurs.

I bite the side of her neck and tighten my hand on her throat, controlling her ability to breathe. My other hand comes downbetween her legs with a slap to her clit and she comes apart on me with a broken cry, every muscle in her body wrenching tight, pulsing around me so hard I see white.

I fuck her through it, wringing every last spasm from her pussy. When she sags forward I follow her down, palm her hip, drive into her three more times and let go with a sound stifled by her hair.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the two of us breathing.

My hand is still loose around the front of her throat. I make myself move it gliding it down, between her breasts until I flatten it to her sternum, feeling her heart hammer against my palm.

She turns her head against my jaw. Laughs once, dazed, wrecked.

“Brady. Jesus.”

I ease back onto my heels, still inside her, and she’s a mess. Hair stuck to her shoulder, neck pink from my mouth, knees shaking under her.

“That wasn’t what I expected,” she breathes.