Page 59 of Convict's Game

Convict leaned back, taking me with him so my body was entirely exposed, the rolling of his hips continuing. “In the mirror, my dick is disappearing inside you. You’re taking me so well, even if I’m not even halfway in yet.”

My panic spiked. He was big, I knew that from almost riding him, but I could barely remember when he’d been inside me in the basement. Had he been all the way inside? I couldn’t be sure. The whole event had turned into pieces of memory mostly made of terror and then relief.

I swallowed. “Go slow.”

“No. I need to go deep. On all fours and relax for me.”

I dropped my hands to the rug, bowing my head. Convict held my hips and circled his to open me. He worked in deeper, each thrust taking him in further and driving me more insane.

“Almost there. Breathe, baby. You’re doing so good.”

I exhaled, needing this as much as he did. I couldn’t explain my attraction to the man, but our connection felt more vital than any I’d ever known.

He jacked his hips one last time then pulsed inside me. I cried out, my pussy throbbing around him in response. Our bodies were flush against each other. We’d done it. He was so thick and in so deep, he hit multiple pleasure points at the same time. I’d never felt anything like it.

My lost boy groaned and rolled his hips. “Fucking hell. You’re taking me. Good girl.”

Pride suffused me. I gripped the soft rug. Everything narrowed to the point of where we touched. I needed to come, and fast. So much I barely knew my name. Only that I needed him to move.

He didn’t keep me waiting. With his fingers indenting my hips, he withdrew and slammed back into me, right to the hilt. We gave up twin sounds of pleasure. Convict repeated the action, and I backed into the hit, charging up with electrifying need.

It was the fact he was bare. We hadn’t even discussed it, only followed the need to fuck. I was never this reckless, but with the deal we’d made, it felt pointless. I liked giving myself over to him. I wanted to not be responsible for every little part of my life. God only knew how much I’d had on my shoulders, so this craziness with a beautiful boy pushed me so far from my comfort zone yet was exactly what I needed.

I’d lost my mind. I didn’t care if I found it.

Each thrust got harder. Impossibly deeper. I dropped my head to my folded arms and just let myself feel the building desire, hearing his words about how beautiful I looked in the mirror. What should have been exposing was somehow freeing. I’d never known anything like the sensation of this man owning my body.

The pleasure coiling inside me intensified almost to the point of pain. He didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. Only kept up that frantic rhythm that was driving me towards a cliff.

Convict loosened his hold on my hip and eased his hand underneath me. Without losing pace, he touched where we joined then drew his fingers back to my clit. I was so primed for him that, at the barest of touches, I moaned. He tapped me right there on that sensitive bundle of nerves, still stretching me, still filling me.

I groaned and panted for breath, so close.

“Need to come?” he taunted.

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe I’ll let you. Or maybe I need you to admire my work.”

Abruptly, he pulled me upright and yanked the bandanna up to clear my vision, no pause in his thrusts. I took a shocked inhale and stared at the mirror image of us. My curvy body being owned by him. His tattooed arm banded around to the base of my throat, the other hand between my legs. His dick spearing into me.

I’d never seen anything so hot.

It was his smirk that did it. A devilish smile that came as he tapped my clit again. I detonated. A surge of towering pleasure smacked me down. I draped back and throbbed around Convict’s dick, my eyes closing, my body alive, and the sensation overwhelming in every way. Scorching waves of good feeling fizzed along every vein, dragging me under to a place I never wanted to leave.

Convict snarled and lowered the bandanna back into place.

My still-throbbing orgasm apparently triggered his, and with a few more ragged thrusts, he cried out and pulsed into me, spilling deep inside me.

I shuddered, high on what he’d done and barely attached to my body. It took long minutes to come back to earth.

Still half-hard inside me, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“Don’t move.”

He pulled out. I mourned the loss of him. Footsteps sounded, then running water followed in the bathroom. He returned, and a wet cloth touched me between the legs. I jerked, and embarrassment flooded me. All of this was new. The animalistic sex, the after-care.

“Bed, now,” were the last words spoken.