Page 120 of Desperate Games

“Never that,” I whimper, feeling his hand slide between us, swiping back and forth against my slippery clit.

“No, Baby, you make me whole,” he says. “This pussy feels so good. You were made for me. Believe me?”

He rocks into me. That big, beautiful dick of his strokes inside me, hitting all the right spots, and I swear, I see stars.

“Yes, I believe you!”

We’re loud. We’re desperate.

We’re claiming and clinging and breaking and building all at once.

“Remy!”

My voice bounces off the walls, echoing like a prayer.

His guttural grunts mix with my frantic cries, and there’s nothing in the world but this—our bodies, our love, our fury colliding in the most primal way.

Because tonight, I don’t just accept him.

I choose him, and I let him know it.

Every violent, obsessive, protective part of him.

And in return, he worships me the only way he knows how—by taking me apart piece by piece and putting me back together again until all I can see, think, breathe, feel and know is him.

I submit, God yes, do I submit, and with his name on my lips. Trust me—nothing has ever felt better.

His hand is brutal on my hip, pulling me back against him with each thrust, while the other fists in my hair, jerking my head to the side so he can bite my neck, hard enough to leave marks that will last for days.

His teeth graze, then sink.

I scream, but I don’t want him to stop.

“That’s it. Take me. Take all of me,” he growls, voice so deep it vibrates through my bones.

The wet slapping of our bodies should sound obscene, but all I hear is us—raw and unfiltered, love and lust tangled until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

My clit throbs where he’s grinding into me, my pussy clenching tight around him with every stroke. I’m dripping down my thighs, making a mess of us both.

“Good girl. Look at you—so tight, so greedy for me,” he pants, his chest slick with sweat against my back.

“Please, Remy?—”

“You don’t have to beg, Wife. You own this cock. It’s yours. Use it.”

I whimper, clawing at his back, pushing back against him like I’m starved, like I’ll die without his cock buried inside me.

“That’s it, Baby. Milk me. Pull the cum from my balls,” he commands through clenched teeth, his thrusts pounding harder, faster, until I’m gone.

The orgasm rips through me, sharp and devastating.

My pussy strangles him, every nerve ending sparking, every muscle shaking as I scream his name.

“Fuck, Andy,” he snarls, hips jerking as his cock throbs deep inside me.

I feel it—hot, thick, endless spurts of him flooding me, filling me so full I swear I’ll never be empty again.

“Mine,” he growls against my ear, one last punishing thrust driving me flat against the bed.