Page 181 of Babies for the Big Shot

Her hands clutch the sheets, holding on for dear life, and I know she’s close, so fucking close.

“Nick,” she chokes out, barely able to form the words. “I’m gonna… please, don’t stop.”

I pull out suddenly, and she lets out a desperate, keening sound that shoots straight to my spine.

“Stay just like that,” I growl, low and commanding. “We’re not done.”

She obeys without hesitation, back arched, waiting, breath trembling. I run my hands over her hips, down the back of her thighs, savoring the way she shivers under my touch.

Then I slide back in, slower this time, inch by inch, and she lets out a whimper that might as well be worship.

Her body grips me tight, pulsing with every deep, deliberate thrust. I reach forward, one hand splaying across her lower back, anchoring her in place, the other sliding up to tangle in her hair again.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” I groan, burying myself in her over and over. “So good, baby… so fucking good.”

She’s unraveling beneath me, her cries turning into soft, helpless little sounds that fuel every thrust. Her hips meet mine with a frantic rhythm, the need in her matching the hunger in me.

“You’re gonna come for me,” I growl into her ear, my voice harsh with restraint. “You’re mine, Sara. Every breath, every moan… it’s mine.”

And when she comes, when her body tightens and shatters around me, her scream muffled by the pillow, her fingers clawing at the sheets, I lose it.

The pleasure crashes over me in a tidal wave, fierce and consuming. I drive into her one last time, spilling into her as our bodies collapse together, trembling, panting, utterly wrecked.

I rest my forehead against her spine, her heartbeat a frantic thrum beneath my lips. And in the stillness that follows, with our bodies tangled, our skin slick with sweat and satisfaction, I whisper, “You’re everything, Sara. My wife. My obsession. My home.”

The end.