Page 121 of Ricardo

I am trembling, anticipating, aching for him to fill me again.

Then he pushes back in, a slow thrust that sheathes him in the warmth of my pussy once again.

A gasp tears out of me. My back arches. The stretch, the fullness, the delicious friction as he fills every part of me.

He does it again. And again.

Each thrust teaches my body something new. The stretch is still there, but now it carries pleasure with it. He is not just fucking me. He is making love to me. With every thrust, he is rewriting my history, replacing the memory of duty and obligation with the reality of desire and devotion.

My body takes over. My hips rise to meet his in a rhythm as old as time. My hands slide down his back, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his buttocks, pulling him deeper, harder.

I lift my legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him deeper, taking more of him.

A low groan rumbles in his chest.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “Take what you need.”

His words are a key, turning a lock inside me I didn't even know was there. Take what you need. The permission is so foreign, so revolutionary, that it breaks something open inside me. A dam.

My body arches off the blanket, a deep, guttural moan tearing from my throat. It's a sound I've never made before, a sound that stems from primal hunger. It's the sound of a woman who has been starving and is finally being fed.

I feel a fresh flood of wetness, coating him, making him slick, making it easier for him to move, faster, deeper.

His control slips for one second. I feel it in the sharper drive of his hips, in the groan he buries against my throat, in the way his hand grips my thigh and holds me open for him.

Then he finds the rhythm, picks up the pace just enough to satisfy but not enough to hurt.

I can feel the tension building again, that low, simmering heat that is now a raging inferno. It's building faster this time, stronger, more intense.

I am no longer in control. I am a creature of pure sensation, lost in the storm of pleasure he is unleashing upon me.

There is only Ricardo above me, inside me, around me. His breath at my ear. His weight pressing me into the blankets. The feel of him inside me, the sound of our bodies slapping together, the scent of our sweat and sex, the firelight flickering on the walls.

I am on the edge. I can feel it. A precipice, dizzying and terrifying and exhilarating.

I can hear myself so clearly as moans and cries fall from my lips.

Ricardo’s mouth finds my ear.

“Such beautiful sounds,” he says. “I want to hear you scream.”

My pussy tightens around him at the words. He groans, and his thrusts grow harder.

My body answers. It knows him now. It opens for him, takes him, pulls him in. Every time he sinks deep inside me, pleasure flashes through me with a force that makes my eyes close.

“No,” he growls. “Look at me.”

My eyes fly open.

He is right there. Dark-eyed. Beautiful. Barely restrained.

Watching me as if this matters to him. As if I matter. As if my pleasure is something he can feel in his own body.

"Ricardo," I gasp, my nails digging into his skin. "I'm... I'm..."

"I know," he growls. "Let go, Julia. Let go for me."

His hand slides between us. His thumb finds my swollen clit and circles.