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My breasts grow heavy, and my nipples bead so hard it hurts.

Gannon’s lips part as he stands against the side of the bed. If my hands were free, I could touch him. He towers over me, his beautiful naked body shaking before a rope of cum shoots from the tip of his cock and lands across my belly.

He grunts, tugging on his shaft as lines of jizz splatter across my skin.

I watch in awe as he pleasures himself in response to my body. My body . Me. I haven’t even touched him, yet this sexy, mercurial man just came on me.

Holy. Mother. Fuck.

A final wave of his orgasm rocks through him, and he shivers, dropping his cock and sighing.

I sag against the mattress, dragging in labored breaths as if I, too, had just climaxed.

He blows out a breath. “How was that for you?”

“You’re a motherfucker.”

He chuckles, reaching down and swirling his cum around my thigh. “It was great for me. Thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t.” I glare at him. “That was hot, but I’m still pissed.”

He brings his finger to my mouth. “Open.”

My pussy clenches as I part my lips. Our gazes collide as he places his finger on my tongue. I hold his attention and suck hard, tasting the warm saltiness until he pulls back.

His eyes sparkle. “You, Miss Johnson, are un-fucking-believable.”

“Do you know what would be un-fucking-believable?” I lift a brow. “Actually fucking.”

His laughter takes the edge off my annoyance.

“Did we learn a lesson tonight?” he asks, taunting me.

“Yes, Mr. Brewer.” I bat my lashes. “We learned that what’s good for you is good for me.”

“Oh, very good. Not how I was going to phrase that, but it works.” He plants a soft kiss to the center of my lips. “Now, how do you want to be fucked?”

“I need it fast and hard.” I glance around the room. “Bend me over and give it to me doggy style.”

He nods approvingly and unties my wrists. My arms fall. I didn’t realize how heavy they’d gotten. Guess I had a good distraction .

Gently, he brings my wrists to his mouth and presses his lips against each one. My heart sputters, threatening to take the gesture the wrong way. So I shove the idea out of my head and focus on getting what I came here for.

“Hands and knees on the side of the bed,” he says, back to his gruff self.

I get situated, willing my arms to have enough strength left to hold me up. The crackle of a foil wrapper breaks through the air. Then silence. I glance over my shoulder just in time to watch Gannon roll a condom down his already hard cock.

“I thought I might have to help you get ready for me again,” I say. “That’s impressive.”

He smiles. “It seems you have a magic pussy.”

I shimmy my hips back and forth, waggling my magic pussy in his face.

He comes up behind me, running both palms over my ass. I spread my knees and arch my back, wadding the blankets in my hands.

“You asked,” he says, roughing his palms up to my waist. The tip of his cock parts my soaked folds. “You shall receive.”

His fingers bite into my skin as he shoves deep inside me in one smooth thrust.

I gasp a breath as I’m lit on fire.

The angle is perfection. He slams into me so hard that his pelvis hits my ass.

“ God, Gannon . Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. I push against him, loving the borderline pain. “Do that.”

“Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

The tempo is punishing, and my clit swells with anticipation. The sound of our fucking fills the room, leaving no space for anything but us.

“Give it to me,” I say, my voice growing louder. “I want to fucking come on your cock.”

“That’s it. That’s it, baby.” He groans. “Your pussy is about to go off. I feel it.”

My arms give out. I fall to my forearms, unable to hold myself up any longer. Gannon jerks me back, holding me still so he can continue to deliver the sweet thrusts that I’ve begged him for.

Tears fill my eyes from the intensity of the moment.

I begin to quake—the ripples start in my core but spread in a vicious wave through my entire body.

“Gannon!” I scream, shaking. “Oh my God!”

He thrusts harder and deeper, tattooing his name in the back of my pussy.

“I can’t,” I cry out. “I … can’t.”

My cheek hits the mattress as he smashes into me one final time. He shakes as he spills himself into the condom, and the guttural groan he emits from his throat is enough to turn me on again.

If I could hold myself up.

Or think.

Or open my eyes.

Finally, he stills and releases his grip—my skin feels bruised beneath his fingertips—and he helps me fall gently to the blankets. I squint up at him and grin.

“Thank you,” I say, giggling.

He shakes his head. “Never thank me for getting the privilege of doing that.”

The warmth that fills me this time isn’t from an orgasm. But I’m afraid to put a name on it. So I don’t.

“Let’s get cleaned up.” He holds out a hand. “Come on.”

I groan. “I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care.”

My bottom lip juts out. “I just need a little nap ... and maybe a sandwich.”

“Afterward. Come on, Miss Matcha.”

His nickname for me makes me laugh, and the sweet little grin makes me giddy. I slap my hand in his and let him pull me off the bed.

He sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the bathroom like the gentleman I’m learning he sometimes can be.