I glance at him over my shoulder and watch as he rolls the condom on over his cock, his dark brows drawn together in concentration. He meets my eyes for a moment and they flare with intensity.
He doesn’t give a shit about the neighbors, that’s for sure.
With one hand gripping my hips, the other positions his dick at my entrance, still wet and ready from earlier. I’m still turned on as hell, as if that orgasm was just priming the way for another one.
More than that, I want, need, oh god how I need to feel him. Not just his fingers. I need to feel him inside me. I wish he wasn’t wearing the condom, but I’m glad he’s being responsible and…
The words are ejected from my head as he pushes himself inside with a single hard thrust.
A gasp is ripped from my throat.
I’m loud.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his words shuddering as he continues to push himself into the hilt, slower now.
I make a mewling noise, trying to nod, already my palms feel sweaty and are sliding down against the glass.
Holy shit, I’m not going to survive him.
“I’ll go slow,” he says thickly, and he dials it back. I concentrate on breathing, air in and air out, the rhythm matching the slow and decadent push of his cock.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he moans. “So fucking good. Ruby girl. My god.”
I want to say the same.
Because he does feel good.
Better than good.
But I don’t have the words right now.
All I can do is feel.
Every fucking thing.
He pumps into me, a little faster now, the pace steady, his grip on my soft skin hard. Occasionally he reaches up and plays with my breasts, or kisses down my spine, or slides a strong finger over my clit. Then he takes his hand away, stopping before I go over the edge again.
It’s torture. The most beautiful torture I’ll ever have.
He’s filling me up in ways I never imagined, my body stretching over him, molding to him, giving in to him. I want him to fuck me both harder and slower, I want all of him and less of him. There’s too much going on and not enough and, fuck, I need to come again.
“Luciano,” I say. I love the way his name sounds. I love the way he fucks me, like I’m art, but the abstract kind, like I’m something chaotic and wild and imperfect. No straight lines or precision, just colors that are bright and scattered and real.
Because that’s what I am. I am all those things, and god, I am such a mess.
But he’s here and he’s with me—he’s fucking me. And I know our bodies know each other, just as we know each other.
This is instinctive now.
And the instinct turns to urgency.
His grip tightens on me, his hips start to slam against my ass. I’m pressed flat against the window now, my breasts spread, and now the thought of any neighbor of his looking at us turns me on like hell.
“Fuck,” Luciano says, leaning forward to growl in my ear. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.” Fingers find their way into my hair and now he’s wrapping my hair around his fist, holding me in place.
Nope. Definitely not going to survive this.
He starts thrusting harder now, pumping upwards, and he works at me so hard he almost slips out of me a few times. Each time he pistons back inside, I’m gasping for air.
Beads of sweat drop from him to my spine and I try to glance over my shoulder to see what pleasure looks like on his face, but his fist in my hair is tight and keeps me in line. Each damning thrust presses me so hard against the glass I fear I might break through. My hands are slippery and sliding.
Then he releases my hair, his hand sliding in front of my throat, holding me there. I can breathe, but just barely, that is until his other hand reaches forward and slides down over my clit.
I’m done for.
“Oh my fucking god!” I cry out, my words echoing off the glass just as I’m pressed against it, getting fucked harder and harder, Luciano pounding me from behind as I come.
I can barely stay on my feet, my orgasm pulling the rug out from under me.
I’m clenching shut and opening wide, my body a contradiction, pulled in every direction, spun around and around.
I am consumed.
Thrown to the wild.
Torn apart.
“God, god, god.” My words are tight, my fingers curling into my palm, the world rocking and quaking and on fire. And then that world is just my body, trying to put itself back together.
How is this orgasm even better than the last one? I swear I can still feel the one before.
“Oh fuck!” Luciano’s words come out like a surprised shout and he squeezes my throat for a breathless, bruising moment before his hand falls down to my hips and he pumps deeply once, twice, then slows.
“Ruby,” he whispers, his voice thick. He runs his hands down my back. “Ruby girl.”
Ruby girl.
I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to rein in both my emotions, which feel all over the fucking place, and my body, which doesn’t know left from right or up from down right now.
He places his palm against my ass and then pulls out carefully.
I feel hollow without him.
I straighten up, slowly turning around, feeling unsteady. I watch as he walks across the apartment, getting a good look at that perfect bare ass. I knew it would be amazing. Those muscles sure know how to fuck the life out of me.
While he rolls the condom off and puts it in the garbage under the sink, I’m, well, feeling a little naked too. It’s one thing to be naked when you know you’re about to have sex. It’s another to be standing in
