Page 23

T he house is gorgeous.

Stunning, even.

But every inch of its beauty flies right out of my head the second Sammy kisses me with intent.

But it’s not just a kiss with him. It never is.

A claiming.

A promise of what’s to come.

I moan into his mouth, letting myself fall, sink, drown in the sheer mastery of his lips, the way he dominates the kiss, the way he takes, then gives, then takes again until I am panting, trembling, clutching onto his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping me standing.

And maybe he is.

Because then, in one swift move, he picks me up off the floor like I weigh nothing at all.

And fuck me, he’s strong.

Like really strong.

The kind of strong that makes my pulse skyrocket, makes liquid heat pool between my thighs, makes me ache, crave, need.

Sammy carries me through the house, moving with unshakable purpose, up the stairs, down a hallway, until we reach a room that looks like something out of my most indulgent fantasies.

An enormous bed.

Floor-to-ceiling windows draped with soft, gossamer curtains, giving the space an ethereal, fairytale-like glow.

The walls and linens are done in warm cream colors, accented with pale green—light, fresh, earthy.

Not the dark, masculine cave I expected him to have.

But something softer.

Something thoughtful.

Something that feels like maybe it’s for me.

And then he drops me onto the bed.

Like a feast laid out before him.

The look in his dark hazel eyes as he rakes his gaze over me from head to toe?

Carnal.

Possessive.

Hungry.

Like he’s about to consume me whole.

I am breathing heavily, my nipples hard as diamonds, my panties soaked through.

And he hasn’t even touched me yet.

But he fixes that real quick.

Sammy reaches for my shirt, undressing me with quick, efficient movements, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head already.

Like he knows my body before ever fully seeing it.

“Turn around, Pixie,” he rumbles.

His voice is a low, delicious command, and I obey without question, heat pooling in my belly as I present myself to him.

My pulse pounds, my skin flushes, anticipation crackling through me as he unfastens my pants, dragging them slowly down my hips, over my thighs, past my legs.

Now I am kneeling naked on the bed, facing away from him, my breaths shallow, my body tense with need.

I can’t see him.

I can only hear the soft rustle of fabric as he undresses behind me, the distant roar of the thunderstorm outside, the way the room has dimmed, the light fading to something deeper, more intimate.

I don’t care about time.

Or storms.

Or anything outside of this moment.

Because all I care about, all I want , is him.

“Fuck.”

His voice is a deep, husky growl, vibrating through the air, through me, sending a delicious shudder straight down my spine.

“Look at you, Pixie. You're so pink and perfect.”

I feel him.

His body, hot and hard, pressing flush against my back, his bare chest searing into my skin, his cock thick and heavy against the curve of my ass.

Fuck, I want him.

I want him inside me.

I want him to fill me, stretch me, ruin me.

I whimper, my head tilting to the side, offering my neck instinctively and he takes it.

“So soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my shoulder, trailing up the curve of my throat.

“So goddamn beautiful.”

Then he inhales deeply, breathing me in, his nose running along my pulse point like he’s memorizing my scent.

Savoring it.

Savoring me.

That alone has me soaking for him.

“Please,” I moan as his hands trace my hips, moving slow and deliberate, his palms hot against my bare skin.

“Please what?” he asks, teasing, taunting, his fingers skimming higher, cupping my tits, rolling my nipples between his expert fingers.

I gasp, arch into his touch, my body trembling with want.

“God, I’m so empty, Sammy. Please.”

His growl is nothing short of animalistic.

“Fuck. Yeah, Pixie? Is my girl needy for me already?”

I nod, desperate, my hips pressing back against him, my ass grinding against his cock, and I swear I feel it twitch in response.

He grins, and I can hear it in his voice when he says, “Does this pussy miss my cock?”

Oh. God.

His words.

Dirty. Filthy.

And I like them.

A lot.

A shameful sob breaks from my lips as he pinches my nipples, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to my core.

“Talk to me, Pixie. Where do you need me?”

His hands roam freely, one sliding up to cup my breast, the other moving lower, so much lower.

“Here?” he asks, giving my tits a firm squeeze.

“Here?” he murmurs, his fingers move, sliding through my slick folds, parting me so gently, so teasingly, so fucking perfectly.

I nod furiously, because yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

Everywhere.

I need him everywhere.

“Want me to suck on these big tits? Or fill this sweet cunt? Tell me.”

Oh God.

Yes.

All of it.

But words fail me.

Because I am too far gone, too lost in the way he touches me, teases me, breaks me down piece by piece.

He bites my neck, then licks the abused flesh, and I moan like a wanton mess, completely at his mercy.

“Does my greedy girl need me?”

I nod, mindless, shameless, already wrecked before he’s even inside me.

He chuckles darkly, dragging the thick head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my arousal, teasing my entrance but not pushing in.

“Are you wet for me? Are you ready to take my cock?”

He presses harder, just barely notching himself inside, and I hiss at the overwhelming need.

“Tell me.”

“Yes. Please. I’m wet. I’m so fucking wet, Sammy.”

“I’m gonna check.”

He slides between my thighs, rubbing himself against me, coating himself in how desperate I am for him.

It feels so good. Better than anything I ever imagined.

“Yeah, you’re ready. Fuck.”

His voice is all growls, all dominance and restraint, and I whimper, because yeah—he’s right.

I am soaking for him.

Desperate for him.

“I got you, Wife. I’m gonna fuck you so good. Fill you until you’re spilling my cum and screaming my name.”

Then, he grips the back of my neck, pressing down until my cheek meets the cool bedspread.

I know his words are over the top. And that they should bother me. But really, I want him to do that.

I want the erotic picture he painted with his raw language.

Sammy’s chest rumbles as he touches me. He’s so careful. So steady and sure as he positions me just right.

My nostrils fill with his spicy masculine scent, and I swear, my mouth waters.

His big hands grip my hips, holding me steady, and then I feel it.

The thick, blunt head of his cock spearing my lips, pushing inside me.

Stretching me.

Filling me.

And it feels so good.

“That’s it, Pixie. Take me. Let me fill you up.”

Sammy’s voice is raw, guttural, his breath hot against my skin as he drives himself deeper, inch by thick, stretching inch.

I gasp, my fingers clutching the sheets, my body burning up from the inside out.

“Oh, God!” I moan.

“Not God. Sammy or Husband,” he tells me.

“Sammy! Fuck. Sammy, it feels so good.”

I don’t know what magic this is, what devil’s deal he made to know my body so perfectly, but the head of his cock nudges something deep inside me, something untouched, unknown, uncontrollable, and I am already unraveling.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs.

His praise is melting into my bones, seeping into the darkest, most desperate parts of me.

Then he withdraws, pulling out just enough to make me feel the loss.

Only to slam back in.

Hard.

Perfect.

Over and over again.

The force of it shoves me forward, my body rocking beneath him, my breasts bouncing with every brutal, precise thrust.

I can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t do anything but take it.

And fuck, that’s all I want to do.

To be taken.

To be used, worshipped, ruined by this man who owns every inch of me.

The grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging in so hard, I know there will be bruises tomorrow.

And I don’t care.

Hell, I want them.

I want to brandish them with pride.

I’m desperate for his marks to sear into my skin.

Want to wake up knowing he was here, inside me, taking what’s his.

I am so close.

The pressure coils low in my belly, growing tighter, heavier, more unbearable.

“Rub your clit, Wife.”

The command is a growl, thick with ownership, reverence, need.

“Come all over my cock.”

And fuck, I obey.

Because of course I do.

Two swipes of my fingers, and I’m gone.

I explode around him, my body clenching, shaking, bowing as the orgasm crashes through me, igniting nerve endings I didn’t even know existed.

Stars burst behind my eyelids, my mind blanking, my body breaking, my voice lost in a strangled cry of pleasure.

Sammy snarls, his hips slamming erratically, his breath ragged as he fucks me through it, wringing every last aftershock out of my wrecked, soaking body.

Then he freezes, his muscles going rigid, his hold tightening.

And I feel it.

The first hot, thick pulse of his release.

Then another.

And another.

His cock throbs inside me, filling me up just like he said he would, his cum painting my insides, claiming me in the most primal way possible.

Boneless.

That’s how I feel.

Completely fucking wrecked.

Like I have been torn apart and put back together solely for his pleasure. And I love it.

I love him.

Sammy’s heavy body collapses on top of mine, his weight comforting, grounding, intoxicating as he catches his breath.

I don’t even mind.

I just lay there, letting him pin me to the bed, letting him remind me who I belong to.

Then he groans, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to my cheek before sliding out of my well-used, still pulsing pussy.

And God help me, I already miss him.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

I don’t move.

Who am I kidding?

I can’t move.

Not when my limbs are jelly, my mind is gone, and my entire body is nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

I close my eyes, still floating, still somewhere between reality and oblivion.

He comes striding back into the bedroom.

Gentle hands clean me up, wiping away the mess he made inside me, taking care of me in a way I didn’t even realize I needed.

Then he picks me up, cradling me like I weigh nothing, and moves me to the center of the bed.

The blanket slides over us, and Sammy wraps his big body around mine, locking me against him.

His chest is solid against my back, his arms strong, protective, immovable.

Like he’s never letting me go.

“Sammy?”

My voice is small, sleepy, content.

“Yeah?”

I don’t know what I’m thanking him for.

For this.

For all of it.

For filling me, wrecking me, taking care of me, making me feel more cherished than I ever have in my entire life.

But I feel compelled to say it anyway.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply.

He just holds me tighter, pressing his lips to my temple, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin.

“Get some sleep, Wife.”

It’s a really good idea.

So, I do.