Page 12 of Loving Amari
The pressure builds inside me again, winding tight. When it finally breaks, I cry out his name, my inner walls clenching around him. Amari follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he finds his release.
But instead of collapsing beside me, he withdraws and flips me over, pulling me onto my hands and knees. I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s inside me again, somehow still hard, still wanting.
“Again?” I gasp, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t respond, just grips my hips firmly as he begins to pound into me from behind. His pace is brutal, unforgiving, driving into me without pause. I’m still so sensitive that every movement sends shockwaves of pleasure-pain through me.
I’m thrown into another intense orgasm so quickly it takes me by surprise. He continues his brutal pace, driving me through it as I collapse onto my forearms, unable to hold myself up anymore.
He switches angles, hitting new spots inside me that make me cry out. The sound fills the room—our bodies, my moans, his grunts. It’s too much, too intense. I throw my hand back, signaling him to ease up, but Amari is too caught up in the passion.
Both at once tip me over. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, my legs shaking as he keeps going, keeps licking and sucking like he’s trying to capture every drop. My hand presses harder against my mouth, muffling my cries as my body convulses with the force of it.
When he gets like this, it’s pointless to try to slow him down. He slaps my hand away and continues to pound into me, his grip on my hips almost bruising in its strength.
Amari grunts behind me, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own climax. He switches angles one last time, the new position sending me spiraling into yet another intense orgasm as he finally reaches his peak, his body shuddering against mine.
“I’m wiped out, there’s nothing left, Amari,” I mumble, my body boneless and spent.
But he isn’t finished. He pulls out of me and flips me onto my back. I stare at him in disbelief.
“You’re going to make me pass out again,” I warn him, but there’s no real heat behind my words.
Amari climbs on top of me, gasping for breath. He rolls on the bed, pulling me with him until I’m straddling him, his dick still inside me. He sits up with me in his lap, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged.
“You are a vision,” he whispers, reverence in his voice, “a goddess descended from the heavens.”
His words wash over me, warm and sweet.
“I’m not supposed to have you,” he says suddenly, and I open my mouth to argue, but he continues, “but I pray to Mother Fate every day, thanking her for blessing me with you.”
“Amari—” I start, but he keeps going.
“I haven’t been perfect with my immortality,” he confesses, “and having you now, my embodiment of perfection gracing me with the privilege of her heart, her body, her soul, I see that now.”
He pauses, his eyes searching mine.
A tear escapes him, sliding down his cheek, and I gasp, immediately snapping my mouth shut. Seeing Amari cry is so rare, so precious, that it renders me silent.
“I love you, Carla,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I love our children. I love this life we live. It is everything to me, and nothing measures up and nothing ever will.”
I reach out, swiping the tear from his face with my thumb before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss against his lips.
“What am I going to do with you?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Just love me,” he pleads. “Please, just love me.”
“I do,” I promise, and he closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against mine.
For a moment, we stay like this, connected in body and soul. Then a thought occurs to me.
“Feed on me,” I tell him.
He pulls back, surprise flashing across his features before his lips curve into a smile. He gently strokes my cheek, moving some of my curls from my sweaty face. “Not tonight. I just want to enjoy you.”
“Please,” I insist.
Amari’s smile widens. “You really are trying to spoil me right now.”