Page 51 of Mister Gregory
He takes me with such force that it brings tears to my eyes, but I can't stop crying out for him. His free hand roams over my body, rough and insistent as his other plays with my ass, igniting pleasure that borders on pain.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. My throat hurts, but I can't stop crying out for him.
He bites my nipple, pulling it roughly into his mouth before letting it go. I want to touch him…I need to touch him. But I can't. He won't fucking let me as he fucks me, flinging me from one orgasm into another.
He's wild above me, pounding into me until the only sounds in the room are the slap of his skin against mine, my broken cries of pleasure, his snarls, and the wet sounds coming from where we're connected.
He holds me down as he pounds into me relentlessly, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge of ecstasy.
"Come on my cock, Mila," he demands.
I want to tell him no. I want to fight him and rage against him and defy him for keeping me tied up. But I don't. I fucking can't, and he knows it. No matter how hard I try, I can't ever deny him anything, and I think he knows that, too.
"Roman, please," I beg as another orgasm sparks to life and more tears well in my eyes. If I come again, I don't think there's going to be enough of me left to put back together. Yet part of me wants to surrender and let it destroy me.
He's going to destroy me, and I think I might let him— willingly—because the thought of being without him is even more terrifying than the sheer ecstasy he inflicts on me.
"One more, baby," he whispers. His mouth lands against mine. He kisses me sweetly, like he knows what's happening to me, what he's doing to me. "I've got you," he breathes into my mouth. "Give me one more, Mila."
I comply without hesitation, my body yielding to him completely. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming as I come hard, screaming until my voice breaks. Spots swim in my field of vision, blotting out everything. I'm just pain and pleasure and us, so full of him, I know there's no way in hell I'm ever going to be the same again.
"Mila," he groans as he comes, giving me everything he has. My name is a prayer on his lips, full of reverence and devotion and that emotion I can't name—the one that lets me know he's never going to be the same again, either.
God. What are we doing to each other? And why can't we stop?
We are lost in each other. So fucking lost.
I whimper when he slides his fingers out of me and then rolls onto his side to face me. Tears still leak from my eyes, but I'm not sure why I'm crying. I think maybe it's because he's ruined me for real this time. And yet, I can't bring myself to care, not when I have him and this intense fire between us.
"Mila, baby," he whispers when he notices the tears dripping down my cheeks. He scrambles up the bed, quickly releasing my arms from their restraints.
I cry out as soon as they're free. They ache and burn, and it feels good. Too good, I think.
"Did I hurt you? Please tell me I didn't hurt you," he murmurs, pulling me into his arms. He cradles me against his big body, gently massaging my arms as he kisses my forehead and eyes, showering me with affection. He sounds so repentant, so worried.
"You ruined me," I mumble. The words sound petulant to my own ears.
"Thank fuck." His sigh is full of relief.
"I'm tying you up next time," I tell him.
He presses his face into my neck and laughs at me, his body shaking beneath mine. I contemplate opening my eyes to glare at him, but I was serious. I can't actually move. I can't feel my legs, and my arms feel like I just power-lifted a dinosaur. I'm telling him the truth, though. I'm going to tie him up and fuck him into oblivion next time.
"Come on," he says, tucking me more firmly against his chest.
He shifts around and then stands up with me in his arms. I let my head loll against his shoulder, my eyes closed. I stay just like that as he carries me into the bathroom. I grumble wordlessly when he places me on the counter, holding onto me until he's sure I'm not going to fall over. Once I'm more or less steady, he quickly washes his hands, brushes his teeth, and then starts the bathtub.
Neither of us says anything as he moves around, adjusting the temperature and then pouring bubbles into the water. I stare at him shamelessly, my eyes heavy. I love watching him move. He's so graceful and confident. The giant eagle tattooed across his upper back moves with him as if it's flying. It's different this time though. He seems tense, his muscles tight beneath the beautiful artwork etched into his skin.
"Up," he says when he steps in front of me again.
He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up before striding toward the bathtub. I groan in pleasure when he sinks down into the water with me, not letting me go even when we're in the tub. Instead, he cuddles me against his big body, keeping me close.
I melt into him, letting him hold me. My entire body feels detached, almost like I'm still floating in that euphoric place he fucked me into.
"That was intense," I mumble, turning my head until I'm nuzzled up against his throat. His skin is scruffy where he hasn't shaved, but I don't mind. I honestly love the way his scruff prickles against my face.
"Yeah, it was," he says, running his hands up and down my arms in gentle passes. He turns his face toward me and brushes his lip against mine. His lips are as soft as always, but something's different. He's still tense, his body rigid beneath mine.