Page 93 of Unbound

“And . . . control?” I take a settling breath, because my entire body feels too tightly wound, muscles pumped like I could burst through a brick wall. “If I wanted to control when you come? Make you wait for it until you—”

“Yes,” she says, but this time it’s nearly a gasp. Her face is flushed, her chest heaving as the cutout sweatshirt dips lower off her shoulder, along her collarbone. “Please.”

“Let’s start like that, then. If you want this—”

“I do,” she cuts me off. “Please, Bennett, I—”

“Shh,” I quiet her softly, but firmly. “Take off your sweatshirt and lie back for me.”

I’ve imagined this so many times. Done ample amounts of research over the years. Even talked to my therapist about it when I worried something was wrong with me for what I wanted—but I know this is everything right. The anticipation of it all is almost overwhelming, but then it’s her beneath me and that changes everything.

Paloma Blake is naked from the waist up, laying across blue sheets like water. Her hair is wild, half out of a loose ponytail, her ample chest heaving with breaths as she trembles.

I reach my hand out slowly to run my knuckles across her stomach and between her breasts.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” I whisper reverently, before dropping my tone. “Push your tits together, P.”

A noise sounds from her throat as her thighs press together tightly, desperate for pressure. I push them apart, settling my knee between her legs without touching her.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

She nods, eyes bright.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

“Good, love. You’re so good for me, yeah?” I press a kiss to her warm forehead. “You take care of me without even trying. In the hotel room? When you helped me with my injury? You took such good care of me. And I was so hard for you. Only you.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees through a puff of breath. “Bennett, please.”

“Open for me, P.” I shuck my pants and boxers off before pulling off my shirt and crawling back to the space between her legs, looking across the curves of her body as I touch myself leisurely. She’s so beautiful—wide hips, thick thighs, sharp curved waistline, her tits large as she pushes them together, following my direction easily.

Paloma’s always been unearthly hot—not just to me. The way people speak about her body has always filled me with rage. But it is a fact that Paloma Blake is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s starred in every fantasy I’ve ever had—and even now I need to touch her, to make sure she’s real.

Her plump, peachy lips part as I press my cock into her mouth, inch by inch. I can’t stop the groan that pours from my own mouth as I push in farther.

“That’s it, love. Can you take me deeper?” She nods, peering up at me. I feed her another inch before her head bucks forward like she’s trying to take all of me. She gags and her brown doe eyes water.

I pull back, popping her lips off me with a gentle grip on the side of her jaw and neck.

“Not in the business of pain or discomfort, P.” My voice is tinged with a bit of anger, tone low. “I decide how much you get, understand?”

She nods. “I’m sorry,” she sputters out.

I lean down and press an almost reverent kiss to her forehead, wiping away any stray tears carefully. “Good girl, P. So good for me, yeah?”

Another quick nod.

“Open. Let me in.”

She obeys so beautifully, sweet and soft and pliant beneath my hands. It’s her trust in me, her feeling safe with me that really gets me off.

Just as my tip presses to her bottom lip, she heaves a breath.

“Are you going to fuck my mouth?” she asks, a false bravado behind her words.