Page 71 of Double Standards

The tip of him grazes my lips, slick and heavy, and I can’t stop the soft groan that escapes me before he pushes inside, stretching my mouth wide. My jaw aches, my throat burns, but I swallow it down.I can take this. I want this. I need this.

He starts pumping, slow at first, then faster, each stroke a promise, a command. My mind spins.This is what I want, what I crave. Every inch of him filling me is torture and salvation at once.

“Take me in that fucking mouth,” he growls, voice thick with approval, and I choke back a gag as he pushes deeper, hitting the back of my throat. My eyes water, burning with the effort, but I don’t stop.I won’t stop. Not now. Not ever.

Part of me screamsplease stop,but the other part, the part that aches and burns with need, whisperskeep going.Because this—this is what it means to be his.

Something about Axel’s dominance sets my skin ablaze, igniting a hunger I didn’t know I had. His head snaps back, and something inside me unfurls—raw and hungry. I love the way his eyes squeeze shut as he thrusts with smooth, relentless power. His lip catches between his teeth, and he clutches my head like I’m his most prized possession. When he lets out that guttural, animalistic groan, my jaw loosens, surrendering completely.

He pounds into my mouth with ruthless intensity, showing no mercy, his fist tightening in my hair. I feel the pinch on my scalp, the blend of pain and pleasure weaving together, a delicious torment that has me biting back a moan. I’m addicted to the sharp edge of it.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls free, leaving me gasping and trembling.

“Turn around,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

I watch him circle the bed, fingers fishing a foil packet from the bedside table. His finger waves insistently, and before I can protest, his hands are on me.

He flips me onto my front, my back arching, ass high and exposed. A cool rush of air hits my bare skin as he peels my skirt up to my waist. Embarrassment flushes hot and fierce, so vulnerable, so utterly exposed but his words ease whatever has come over me.

“So fucking beautiful,” I almost miss the whisper, soft and reverent, but it’s there, wrapping around me like a secret vow.

A taut silence stretches between us, and impatience blooms. He teases the tip, stroking slowly, coating himself with my slickness, driving me dizzy with the sharp tension of waiting.

Then he slams into me.

“Fuck!” Our gasps collide, breaths stolen by the shock of fullness, the deep, aching stretch that sears and demands all my focus.

My face buries into the sheets as I try to surrender, to breathe, to think, but I’m drowning in him, in the exquisite burn where he fills me so completely.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs with dark appreciation, sliding out just to thrust back in, slow and deliberate. “So fucking wet.”

His hands clamp on my hips, driving me into the mattress with pounding thrusts. Each stroke hits that spot inside me with surgical precision. I’m unraveling, teetering on the edge of losingmyself completely. The knot in my stomach tightens, ready to snap wide open.

“Axel,” I moan, my voice rough from exertion.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, low and husky, his words sending shivers racing down my spine.

“Harder.” The word slips free before I can catch it.

He answers immediately, pounding into me with brutal force, hips slamming hard enough to make me grip the sheets, holding on as waves of pleasure threaten to drown me. I’m spiraling higher and higher, pushed to the brink of ecstasy by his relentless rhythm.

But then he slows, shifting his weight, rolling his hips with perfect, torturous control. His strokes blend fast and slow in a maddening dance.

“Oh God,” I moan, limbs aflame, heart hammering, utterly consumed.

His body presses heat into my back. Without the bed beneath me, I would collapse.

“It’s not God fucking you, Cassie.” His voice is a dark caress, his teeth nipping my earlobe, sending sparks through my trembling legs.

My orgasm crawls through me, slow and merciless, threatening to shatter every piece of me.

“Who’s fucking you?” His weight lifts, but his grip on my hair yanks me around until our eyes lock.

“You,” I whisper, breath ragged, a broken plea as his palm lands on my ass hard, then soothes it tenderly, the sting mingling with the dizzying pleasure flooding my body.

“That’s right.” He crashes back into me, holding my hair tight as he ravages me with fierce, possessive thrusts that claim every inch of me.

“More,” I plead, voice trembling on a whisper, barely holding on as his pace quickens, each strike rocking the bed, shaking the walls.