I had no choice but obey, and even that was conflicted—I wanted to do exactly that, make myself come while he was inside me and coming, but being told what to do made me want to the exact opposite. Sexual need won out over psychological, though, and I pressed the tips of my three middle fingers to my clit and whipped them back and forth in a fast light touch. It was immediate—the searing heat in my core building as I worked myself into a wild frenzy within seconds.
“You want to come with me, you better come now,” I said through gritted teeth.
He clutched my tits with rough affection, lips on my ear, voice a low ragged snarl. “Right now, Lex? You want me to come right now?”
I was shuddering, shaking already—his kiss and my own anger and the suddenness of this tryst had me on the edge faster than ever and I was always quick to come at least once, and there I went—my body wanted to arch forward as I cried out through a sudden and wrenching and lightning-hard orgasm. I felt myself squeeze around him, my pussy clenching so hard the muscles ached with spastic tightness around his iron-hard cock.
I was coming, and he hadn’t even thrusted once.
Ohhh fuck, there he was. He pulled back and drove back in, hard—hard. Our bodies met with a clap of flesh, my sex wet and squelching around him. “Fuck, Lex. You better come again.”
I kept going, kept touching myself, obeying him with blind instinct and need—he needed me to come as bad as I needed to come again, needed to feel myself spasm around him as he cut loose. And even now, in the throes of this, I felt a wrench in my soul, a reminder of how fucking insanely badly I wanted to feel him come bare inside me, a stupid, foolish, weak, idiotic, crazy need. My fingers flew around my clit and I felt him moving, felt his flesh sliding against my knuckles as he entered me.
Twice, then, slow but hard.
Then, as if giving up some restraint he was fighting for, he fucked me up against the door so I slammed into it—he let go of my breasts and I felt them smash flat as he filled me, driving me against the door and lifting me up onto my toes with the force of his thrust. His lips never left my ear, his huffing breath loud, and his growls louder, his chest against my back. I felt the tremors begin inside me, and now he was moving steadily, faster and faster with each stroke. Each time he filled me, I was lifted up onto my toes and slammed against the door—he was not being gentle, not at all.
It made me come so hard I saw stars flash against the inside of my closed eyelids, or maybe my eyes were open. I was screaming, loud, throat-searingly loud. Trying to meet his thrusts, but he had me pinned against the door, immobilized. He was simply taking me. Fucking me.
I loved it.
And I hated myself for loving the way he used me. The way he could just…seduce and screw me right out of my rage. He knew he could, and I was helpless to stop it. Because I wanted him, no matter what. Even in the fires of my blind rage, my body reacted to his—
More infuriating still, it was more than just my body reacting and I knew it, and I fucking hated that truth.
Hated that I knew it, that I was still trying to deny it, hated that I couldn’t’ deny it—hated everything about this entire situation—except how motherfucking perfect we felt together.
How perfect he could make me feel.
The only time I felt perfect, in fact, was—
I tore that thought out of my brain before it could complete itself, threw my body back against his to take his cock hard and deep, the wrenching ache of him inside me shredding and shearing away any capacity for rational thought. Even emotions faded in sun-hot glory as our bodies crashed together.
I was crying. Weeping.
Screaming.
Wordless, not even his name—too lost in a wild ecstasy to form words.
Ecstasy became something else as his grunts became desperate, as his thrusts turned frantic. I was on my toes, and he was thrusting so hard it hurt but in the most incredible possible way, and he was fucking hard and fast, and I was jostled and jounced and slammed against the door, the cold metal smooth and slick against my cheek and tits.
“Come—come,” I whisper-shrieked. “Come, goddammit! I’m coming, Myles—come with me!”
He snarled, the ragged desperate snarl of rabid wolf and I felt it shock through him. My command was the trigger for his obedience: I told him to come, and he came. He lifted up on his toes, and his arms wrapped around me, clutching roughly at tits and hips, staggering backward a step so he could lift me off the floor, arching backward so I was suspended an inch off the floor, impaled on his cock as he slammed up into me, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, not trying to pull away now, just to get deeper into me—there was no deeper he could go, he was so fully buried inside me and was so huge, so long, so thick there was nowhere else to go. I screamed again as my orgasm shredded me into sobbing pieces, and then he was coming, roaring in my ear, slamming up even harder into me so my whole body bounced upward, and I felt—felt, even through the layer of latex separating us the force of him emptying himself into me...into the condom—
My world tilted, lights and stars flashed, my head spun, and a scene flashed through my mind, a memory of something which hadn’t happened yet:
Myles, on his knees behind me; we were on a carpeted floor, and I was on my hands and knees. A mirror was in front of
