Page 30 of Danny

"Danny, I'm—"

“You’re fucking amazing, baby. Come for me, give me everything you’ve got.”

I come as Danny growls into my pussy. My entire body trembles, his arm holding me up, my fingers twisted in his hair so tight it has to hurt. He keeps going through it, his mouth relentless, until I'm gasping and pulling at his hair to make him stop.

He stops. Presses his forehead against my hip. Breathes.

“You’re my favorite fucking meal.”

"Get up," I tell him. My voice is wrecked. "Take the tuxedo off. Right now."

He stands. Shrugs off the jacket. His fingers work the shirt buttons and he's fumbling. He swears under his breath and yanks as a button pings off, hits the floor and skitters under the bed.

"That tuxedo costs more than my rent," I say.

"I don't care." He pulls the shirt over his head instead of finishing the buttons and I see his chest and his abs and my brain goes completely dumb. There’s a scar on his left side that I want to ask about and the trail of dark hair below his navel. His hands are on his belt and his trousers hit the floor. He's standing there in tented black boxers and the crooked bow tie, which is still around his neck because he forgot about it.

I start laughing.

"What?"

"The bow tie." I point. "You're still wearing the bow tie."

He looks down and laughs.

“I look like a stripper-gram,” he says.

“Fuck, I’d pay to see you dance around like that.” I say giggling.

His body lands against mine, skin on skin, and the laugh dies because the feel of him is — God. Warm and solid and everywhere. His mouth on my neck, my shoulder, the spot below my ear that makes me gasp.

“You don’t need to pay to get me naked, baby. I’m fucking desperate for you.”

We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. My elbow catches the mattress at the wrong angle, but I barely feel it—Danny’s already half on top of me, shifting, and his knee slides between my thighs, pressing right against my aching center. I moan at the delicious friction, loud and shameless, grinding against him before I can stop myself.

I grab his face with both hands and kiss him hard, tongues sliding, teeth grazing. My hand snakes down between us, palming the thick, rigid length of him through his boxers as he slips them off. He’s rock-hard, throbbing under my touch. He groans into my mouth—deep, guttural, the sound of a man who’s been wound tight all night finally snapping.

He settles fully between my spread thighs, and I feel the blunt, heavy head of his cock nudge against my slick entrance. Fuck. It feels even bigger than it looked—thick, hot, intimidating in the best possible way.

“You ready, baby?” His voice is wrecked, barely holding on.

“Yeah—yes. God, yes.” I’m panting, nails already digging into his shoulders. “Just… go slow at first.”

He pushes inside me, inch by slow, stretching inch, and we both freeze. The breath punches out of both of us. He drops his forehead to mine, arms trembling where they brace beside my head, breath ragged against my lips.

“Jesus Christ, Anna,” he rasps, voice strained. “You’re so fucking tight.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, tilting my hips to take him deeper, and he starts moving—long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside me. He’s so big it borders on overwhelming, a burning, perfect stretch that makes my toes curl. He shifts the angle, hitting that spot again, harder, and I gasp sharply, back arching off the bed.

My nails rake down his back. He swears hotly against my neck, hips snapping forward with more force. The bed frame slams rhythmically against the wall, loud and obscene. I don’t care. I can’t think about anything except the way he’s filling me, fucking me, the wet sounds of our bodies meeting, the way his bow tie is probably lost somewhere in the sheets and Persuasion is lying forgotten on the floor.

This is the least composed either of us has ever been, and I’ve never wanted anything more.

He slips a hand between us, his thumb—the same one that had gently pressed against my pulse in that fluorescent hallway—finding my swollen clit. He circles it perfectly, firm and relentless, never breaking rhythm. Pleasure coils tight and sudden in my core.

I come hard, clenching around his cock in pulsing waves, crying out his name. He buries his face in my neck with a broken groan and follows right after, hips stuttering deep inside me as he spills hot and thick, my name torn from his throat like a prayer: “Anna—fuck, Anna.”

We stay locked together, breathing hard. His weight is heavy and perfect on top of me, skin slick with sweat, his face buried in my hair. After a long moment he rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so I’m draped across his chest, his arm locked around my waist.