Page 95 of Almost Enough

“I need…” I beg, all pretense of control abandoned. “Please, I need…”

“What happened to making me beg?” he taunts, his pace slowing to torturous, shallow thrusts.

“Tables have turned,” I gasp, trying to push back against him, seeking more friction.

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating through me as he maintains that maddeningly slow pace. His hand slides up my back, then he leans down, his chest pressed to my back as he wraps his fingers gently around the front of my throat.

“You started this game,” he reminds me, his voice an erotic rumble against my ear. “Now I’m finishing it.”

He pulls out and flips me onto my back. I stare up at him, breathless and desperate, as he towers over me. A glint of light catches the sweat on his chest, highlighting every defined muscle.

“Look at you,” he taunts, pushing my dress up farther until it’s bunched around my ribs. “All that attitude, and now you’re begging.”

“I am not,” I protest weakly, even as my hips lift, seeking him.

He positions himself at my entrance again. “No? Then I guess you don’t need this.”

He starts to pull away, and I immediately reach for him, fingers digging into his forearms.

“No! Don’t you dare,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to trap him between my thighs. “Let’s not make any rash decisions.”

His brow arches. “Try again.”

“Please, sir,” I whisper. “Please fuck me.”

The victorious smile that spreads across his face only makes me want him more. “That’s more like it.”

In one powerful thrust, he’s inside me again, filling me so completely I see stars. No. Galaxies. He hooks his hands under my knees, pushing them to my chest, opening me up to take him deeper.

“Fuck,” he groans, his rhythm building to something relentless. “You feel so goddamn good.”

The new angle has him hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, and I can feel myself climbing rapidly toward release again. My nails rake down his back, leaving marks I hope will still be there tomorrow.

“Beau, I need to…”

“Not yet.” He slows his pace just enough to keep me teetering on the edge. “Look at me first.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The vulnerability beneath all that dominance and control steals my breath more effectively than his thrusts.

“Tell me what exactly you want,” he demands, voice rough with restraint. “That’s the only way you’re getting it.”

“You,” I gasp. My body trembles beneath him, but I hold his gaze. “I want you to come inside me,” I breathe, the words tumbling out. “I want to feel you pulsing inside me when I finish. I want your cum filling me up while I’m wrapped around your cock, so deep I can feel it everywhere.”

His eyes flash, something feral breaking through that carefully maintained control. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my thighs as he pushes them impossibly closer to my chest.

“Goddamn, Whitley,” he mutters before his lips claim mine in a bruising kiss. His restraint shatters, and his rhythm becomes erratic and more desperate.

“Soak my cock, Red,” he commands against my lips.

My orgasm crashes through me, my body arching off the bed as I cry out his name. White-hot pleasure radiates outward from my core until my entire body is nothing but sensation.

He follows seconds later, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself inside me with a guttural groan. I feel every pulse as he fills me, his body shuddering above mine.

For a long moment, we stay like that, connected and breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine. He eventually eases out of me slowly. Before I can protest, he’s scooping me up in his arms, carrying me farther up the bed. He lays me down gently against the pillows, then stretches out beside me, immediately pulling me against his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

I laugh weakly, still trembling from aftershocks. “I think we broke something. Maybe the wall. Definitely my ability to walk.”