Page 117 of The Ache That Stayed

A guttural sound tore from his throat.

“Fuck…” the word slipped out, low, almost disbelieving. “How are you—”

He let out a breath, shaking his head slightly—pushing through the resistance.

“Tight like that?”

My answer came, breathless, barely there.

“Kegels.”

A short laugh broke out of him. Of course he’d find it amusing. He pressed his forehead to mine and kissed the tip of my nose, sinking into me inch by inch. Every nerve in my body lit up like fireworks. He wasn’t even fully in yet, I felt so full.

My hand unconsciously went up, my palm flat against the hard line of his throat, pushing just enough to stall his weight. His eyes widened slightly, then smiled like he enjoyed the slight dominance I had over him.

“No more,” I rasped.

He froze, his breath hitching against my skin. His expression shifted. It was a look that threw me completely off balance.

Tenderness.

A dark, surprised smirk cut across his mouth. He didn’t pull away; he just leaned right into the pressure of my hand, looking down at me like he’d never seen me before.

Then, his hand slipped into mine, fingers threading through mine for one brief second before he lifted it above my head and pressed a kiss to my forehead—almost painfully gentle compared to the way he was holding me open beneath him.

“Just a little more,” he growled. “You’re going to take all of me, Volpi. Every inch.”

The promise in his voice unravelled a raw submission inside me, and my body instinctively relaxed on cue. He thrust to the hilt in one motion. The sensation tore through me, force spearing all the way to my throat.

Holy hell.

White spots flared in my vision, the sheer force of it making me see stars as my lungs locked up. He gave me a second to adjust before nearly pulling all the way out and slamming back hard into me, stretching me, filling me. The slow pace was driving me insane. It felt so good, but I wanted more. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him closer. Needing him deeper.

Was I supposed to feel this good?

He smacked the side of my breast, watching it jiggle, before squeezing it and then holding me in place by my throat, just enough to make my pulse spike. I felt him everywhere. His long, deep strokes made lust erupt like a volcano inside me; I couldn’t escape.

His other hand moved lower, finding my clit, slowly circling it. A helpless sound escaped my throat.

I was losing it. Losing control.

I clawed at his shoulders, and then my fingers tightened in his hair, tugging and pulling. He bit the side of my throat down to my breast, leaving a trail of delicious bruises. Every mark throbbed with a sharp intensity, sending a buzzing rush straight to my core, making me wetter.

My hips jerked, trying to match his rhythm, chasing friction as he kept his pace slow. He kept building me up and changed the pace as soon as I was on edge, refusing to let me fall apart.

The bastard kept edging me for his own sadistic pleasure.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice dragging, dark with satisfaction. “Can’t even stay still.”

“Fuck you.” I managed.

He smiled, hand flexing slightly at my throat.

“Feel that?” he murmured, dragging his mouth lower, slower—deliberate enough to make me shake.

“Everywhere I touch—you react.”

He pinched my clit. Each touch felt magnified, blurring the lines between pleasure and a desperate, aching need to hold on.