Page 34 of Harris
Lies: Thirty-five—thirty-six…fuck, fuck, fuck, how many more could I take? They hurt, now. Ripping, plundering, scattering climaxes, one after another, because Nick was fierce and wild and insatiable.
And then he came, slammed home once more, and then buried himself to the hilt and ground his hips against me, ground himself inside me, fingers gripping my hips with bruising force, keeping me jerked hard against him. He came, exploding in me so hard I felt it like a geyser.
“Layla! Fuck—fuck, oh fucking Christ—” and then he was just shouting incoherently as he literally blew his brains out through his cock inside my throbbing, well-used cunt.
Over and over and over, he came. So long, so hard. A seemingly endless orgasm.
And then he collapsed.
I was done.
So done.
“How—how many?” Nick gasped.
“Thirty…thirty-nine, I think. I lost track toward the end there.”
I was seeing stars, feeling dizzy and faint.
The vibrator was still buzzing madly inside my ass.
Nick could feel it, too. He reached back there, levering himself over me. “Thirty-nine?” He found the pull-string, and gently tugged. His other hand was busy, too, swirling against me. “Might as well make it a nice round forty.”
“I don’t know…” I grated out, teeth clenched. Fighting it, now. “I don’t know if I—if I can.”
“I thought you didn’t have a threshold?”
“I think we…oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! I think we found it.” I sounded desperate. Panicked. The pressure inside me was unbearable. Volcanic. Sharp. Cutting. I couldn’t take it. This one would be too much. Too much. One over the line.
“Can’t stop now, isn’t that right?” Nick’s voice was pleased, because he was once again in control.
And the truth was, I’d known all along I’d never find the edge, never find my limit without Nick to take me there.
I was not a woman who submitted, not to anyone, not ever. But when I gave in to Nick, that’s when shit got the most intense.
I gave over, then.
Abandoned myself to it. His fingers worked hard. He gradually drew the vibrator out, and then pushed it back in. Out, and then back in. Further out, and then in. Fingers circling me wildly all the while.
I found the crest, and I reached it sobbing. Actually sobbing, the searing, painful heat of the breaking climax was so much, too much, so completely too much for me to handle. And when it crested, when I fell over that edge, sobbing too hard to even scream, Nick pulled the vibrator free and the orgasm detonated within me, a white-hot nuclear spasm washing through me, overtaking me.
And then I literally passed out.
When I woke up, I was in Nick’s arms—I was home. I let out a contented sigh before I even opened my eyes. I knew he was awake already, from his breathing.
“I love you, Layla Campari.” His voice was muzzy; he hadn’t been awake long, then.
“Even though I’m stubborn, reckless, and refuse to ever do what I’m told?”
He rolled over, my head cradled on his forearms, his body over mine, nestling into me, gliding in where he belonged, lips kissing mine, whispering. “Especially because of that.”
“You know I’ll listen to you when it counts, right?” I said, between gasps of bliss.
“Yeah, babe. I know. And I promise I’ll never take it easy on you. Out there, you’re one of the guys.” He plunged, bucked, rocked, but slowly, smoothly, lovingly. “In here, though—”
“I’m all yours.”
“Forever.”
“Promise?”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Yeah, I promise.”
“You know I still expect a romantic proposal one day, right?”
“You’ll get it. Someday.”
That’s all the promise I needed. I didn’t really need a ring or a proposal, I just needed this man, no matter what.