Page 77 of Haunted Spurs

But Ron doesn't give me time to think.

He keeps driving into me, and the brutal rhythm of his thrusts sweeps away every rational thought, making me lose my mind completely.

I look down, my vision blurred by the sheer vertigo of pleasure.

I look right there, at the exact spot where our bodies join and collide. His chiseled abdomen, tense and slick with sweat, his flexed muscles sloping down in a perfect line to his groin. I watch him thrust forward and disappear completely inside me, his thick length swallowed by my swollen, wet core, only to pull back and plunge inside again. Nothing in my entire life has ever been this incredible.

The sound filling the room is filthy, wet.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Skin against skin. His hand, still wrapped around my throat with deliberate firmness, regulates my oxygen, sending me into a state of feverish euphoria. His other hand firmly grips my thigh, keeping my leg anchored high, hooked over his shoulder, while he drives his hips with a ruthlessness that tears my mind right out of my skull. I feel the friction of his length sliding against my inner walls, stretching me, filling me until I gasp for air.

"Are you watching me, Selly?" he pants. "Do you like taking all of it?"

I part my lips, gasping for air. I can't lie. "Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulder. "Yes, fuck, Ron."

"Say it again," he orders. He loosens his grip on my neck just enough to let me breathe, only to drive back in with a thrust so deep and brutal. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I want it," I whimper, losing my last shred of dignity. Pleasure is a flame consuming me from the inside. Every thrust hits the exact spot that drives me crazy. "I want you. Move. Don't stop."

He obeys. He abandons his last shred of self-control, and the pace turns frantic, animalistic. Every drive is a declaration of possession. His hips slam against mine with relentless fury. I feel the heat of his chest brushing my bare breasts, the burning friction between my legs turning into a delicious torture. Tension builds in my lower belly, a dense, white-hot mass ready to detonate.

My walls start to quiver, involuntarily squeezing around his hard cock. "You're so fucking tight," Ron hisses through clenched teeth. I see the muscles in his neck strain under the effort, his veins pulsing with adrenaline. He grips both of my hips, his fingers leaving red marks on my pale skin, and accelerates. "Come for me, Selene."

I don't need any more thrusts. My resistance crumbles to dust. "Ron!" I scream his name, unable to stop it.

The orgasm crashes over me with the violence of a hurricane. My core explodes in violent, uncontrollable spasms, clamping down and milking his length with every single, devastating contraction. Waves of thick, blinding, liquid pleasure radiate from my groin to the tips of my toes, leaving me deaf and blind to everything but him.

Ron lets out a low grunt. He stops moving. He squeezes my hips, lifting me slightly against him to bury himself as deep as possible, right to the hilt, and his body goes rigid in a brutal climax.

My leg slips weakly from his shoulder. Ron collapses his weight over me, burying his sweaty face in the crook of my neck.

Slowly, his hand slides from the mattress and reaches up to caress my face, brushing my hair away from my cheek with a gentleness that brings a lump to my throat. He lifts his head just a fraction and kisses the skin of my neck, a tired, wet kiss loaded with a gratitude that shatters me.

"Shit, Selene," he whispers, his voice fractured, still breathless. He nuzzles his nose against my temple. "You're fucking indescribable."

I don't answer.

And as my heart struggles to slow its frantic racing against his bare chest, I desperately try not to think about how terrifyingly, absolutely safe I feel pinned beneath his weight.

Then Ron shifts with a heavy sigh, freeing me of his weight but not actually moving away. He disposes of the condom and collapses onto his back on the mattress, pulling the duvet up to cover us both. He doesn't give me time to pull back or retreat to my corner; his arm slides under my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side.

I stay rigid for a moment, my cheek resting against his muscular chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. His fingers play lazily with a strand of my hair.

"No one has ever eaten you out before, have they?"

The question drops in the dark.

I gasp. I feel heat flare across my cheeks again, this time from pure mortification. I go rigid against his side, trying to hide my face. "You already asked me your question today," I murmur defensively.

I feel his chest vibrate with a silent laugh. "Nah," he counters, his tone drawling and amused. "It was the middle of the night when I asked you. So that was yesterday's question, not today's."

I lift my head to glare at him. "Technically, that's not correct at all, Willers. It was past midnight."

He arches an eyebrow, flashing a cheeky grin. "My game, my rules."

"Your rules suck," I hiss, narrowing my eyes.