Page 62 of Wicked Roses

Delphine jumps onto me and wraps her legs around my waist when I hoist her up. I slide into her almost at the same time. Her tight heat engulfs me, and I groan out a string of curse words.

“Fucking hell, Phi. Your fucking pussy. It’s god damn torture. So god damn good,” I swear. My breathing goes ragged and I grit my teeth to maintain some level of control.

She feels so good, it’s enough to turn me into a feral beast. Warmth floods through me, burning in my veins. Not even a minute inside her and I can already feel the beginnings of my release. It’s tingling at the base of my spine and welling up inside my balls.

How the fuck did I go twelve years without this pussy?

No other one is like it. No other woman is like Delphine.

I cant her hips at an angle that allows for deeper penetration and draw my hips back. I sink back into her, bottoming out to her gasp. She clamps down on my dick and I lose it. My body reacts on its own, listening to my most uncivilized instincts—the urge to fuck the shit out of her.

I begin pumping into her. Hard and unrelenting, my hips jerk into her. My dick forces its way deeper inside her clenching pussy.

Delphine slides up and down the closet wall from the power of my thrusts. Only my hands gripping her hips keep her in place.

Her eyes roll to the ceiling and her teeth catch her bottom lip. She tries to hold in the whimper desperate to be set free. Instead, it sounds like a strangled mewl in her throat. She tightens her legs around me and presses the heels of her feet into my ass.

Presses my dickdeeperinto her. She wants more. She wants it rough.

I grunt and grant her wish. I drill into her harder until she can’t hold in her whimpers anymore. It turns into a full blown, breathless scream. Soon she’s delirious, babbling as she tells me how my thick cock feels so good in her little pussy and how she doesn’t care who knows she’s a naughty slut for me. The kind of language that would make a sailor blush.

It’s so fucking hot it only spurs me on.

Her pussy flutters around my dick. She’s hot and gushing wet at the same time, teetering on the edge of her orgasm. It’s written all over her face.

I hold her up, peeling her off the closet wall, and wrenching her to my mouth for a kiss.

With the wall no longer being used as a prop, it’s all on me. I balance her weight in my arms and bounce her on my dick. She clings to me with arms and legs banded around my neck and waist. The feel of her soft body pressed against mine as I slide her up and down on my dick is enough to make me spiral.

I pump into her harder, kissing her harder too. We almost come at the same time—a talent we perfected years ago during our relationship. Our bodies were so in sync we were able to react off the other and let go together.

Turns out, we’ve never lost that connection.

“Yes! Salvatore... oh fuck!”

With my name on her full lips, Delphine clenches my cock and orgasms. It’s the final push needed to knock me over the edge. I tighten my arm around her and piston into her until I’ve buried myself as deep as I can go in her sweet, soaked pussy. Then I come, flooding her with the evidence she’s mine.

The most primal way I can mark her and let her know.

M-I-N-E.

We were so caught up in each other, we didn’t talk about protection, or where I was and wasn’t allowed to come.

But right now it doesn’t matter. Neither of us care as we pant and kiss, still lost in the moment.

Pleasure blasts through me like a violent tidal wave. It surfs down my spine and explodes from my dick and balls. My whole body, right down to my bones, feels like it’s buzzing. Stronger than ever and weaker than ever at the same time.

I might as well see fucking shooting stars and spaceships. That’s how lost I am and how powerful this orgasm is. I don’t think I’ve ever had one as powerful as this.

When the wave of pleasure passes, I become aware of the fact that I’m squeezing Delphine into me. I might as well be suffocating her with how I’m holding her, crushed up against my chest. I set her down and focus on catching my breath.

She backs up against the wall on wobbly legs. The look on her face is as dazed as I feel.

We’re a fucking mess—half dressed in soaked clothes, slicked with sweat, glossed over eyes, barely able to breathe. I slide my fingers through my hair, still damp from the rain, and I buckle my pants.

“Here,” I say, picking up her discarded yoga pants. Her panties I keep. Another trophy for the collection. The first pair in twelve years.

“We just...” she trails off. Her eyes widen, meeting mine.