Page 95 of Impulse Control
I laughed, weak and sated. "A little."
He crawled up my body, settling over me again. "Good."
He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his lips, on his tongue. The metal of his piercing was a cool, thrilling contrast against the heat of his mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him inside me.
"Now," I demanded. "Dominic, please."
He reached between us, positioning himself at my entrance. "Look at me," he commanded, his eyes locking with mine. "I want to see you when I'm inside you."
He pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust to the thick, satisfying stretch of him. The sleek silver ball piercing his frenum was a new, thrilling sensation every single time. A cool, hard stroke of pressure against my sensitive walls that sent sparks through my entire nervous system. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, my eyes fluttering shut.
"Hey," he ordered again, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Look at me. I want to see you."
I forced my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. His face was a mask of concentration and desire, his jaw tight, his pupils so wide they nearly swallowed the color of his irises. He was watching every flicker of emotion on my face, cataloging my reactions as he sank deeper, inch by excruciating inch.
"God, you feel incredible," he breathed when he was finally fully seated, his hips pressed flush against mine. "So tight. So perfect."
He stayed like that for a long moment, just letting us both adjust, letting me feel the heavy, full weight of him inside me.Then he began to move, slow, deep strokes that stole my breath all over again. Each retreat left me feeling achingly empty, and each thrust filled me completely, the ring of his piercing dragging against my inner walls in a way that was almost too much, but not nearly enough.
I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, meeting his rhythm, lifting my hips to take him deeper. The room grew hot, our bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the sounds of our breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the soft groans and whimpers we couldn't hold back.
His mouth found mine again, a hungry, demanding kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. His pierced tongue delved deep, a metallic, intoxicating taste that I craved. I sucked on it, earning a low growl from him that vibrated through his chest and into mine.
"Harder," I gasped against his lips. "Dominic, harder."
He obliged, his movements becoming faster, more forceful. The bed rocked beneath us, the headboard knocking softly against the wall. He shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside me, the one that made my vision go white and my toes curl.
"There," I cried out. "Right there. Don't stop."
He didn't. He drove into me again and again, his hips snapping against mine, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for his relentless assault. The pleasure built, coiling in my belly, hot and tight and ready to snap.
"Come for me again, Rachel," he commanded, his voice rough and commanding. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel it."
His words, combined with the relentless stimulation, the sight of him above me—sweat-slicked and beautiful, his face contorted with pleasure as he took me—was enough to send me over the edge again.
The orgasm ripped through me, more intense than the first, a blinding, convulsive wave of pleasure that left me shaking and breathless. I cried out his name, my body arching off the bed, my inner muscles clamping down around him.
"Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm pulsed around him. "Rachel. God."
He thrust into me a few more times, deep and hard, and then he was coming too, his body tensing, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he poured himself into me. I could feel the heat of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he found his own release.
We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He was heavy on top of me, his face buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing ragged and uneven. I held him close, my hands stroking his sweat-dampened hair, my heart still racing.
After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, pulling me with him so we were face to face, our legs still tangled together. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle and tender.
“Hi,” he said, that slow, satisfied smile curving like he already knew the answer. “Take three.”
I laughed, breathless and wrecked in the best way. “Still here.”
He leaned in and kissed me, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the ferocity of our lovemaking. "I really missed you," he murmured against my lips.
"Me too," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "More than I realized."
We stayed like that for a few seconds, just breathing each other in, until he tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with familiar mischief.
“So,” he said. “What’s next?”
I raised an eyebrow, pretending to think. “The shower?”
