Page 88 of Nine Months to Bear

His lips are lashing at my clit. He strokes a finger over me, teasing up and back down, before sliding it in deep. I whimper, but when he asks if I want another, I nod, desperate.

He works two into me, pumping to the pace of his tongue, and I have to bite my lip to stifle the moans.

“Let it all come out,” he commands as he moves the hand on my belly up to rip away the one covering my mouth. “No one will hear but me.”

As he says that, he adds a third finger and sucks my clit in an open-mouthed kiss. The fullness, the oversensitivity, the wrongness and rightness of it all?—

I cry out as I soar over the edge.

“Stefan!” I gasp. I’m tugging on his hair to bring him closer, to push him away, to shatter him the way he’s shattering me.

Distantly, I hear him groan, but I’m lost to the sensation. It hits me again and again, wave after wave. He doesn’t stop licking me for a long, long time.

I’m still trembling with aftershocks when he finally relents. He leans back, then rises above me. The moonlight casts half his face in shadow as he removes the rest of his clothes. His eyes never leave mine.

“How do you want—?” I start to ask, already knowing I’m too limp to roll over or hold myself up.

It doesn’t matter. Stefan crawls over me, his elbow pressing into the mattress next to my head while he teases himself against me.

I whimper, and he grounds out a low curse. “You feel fucking unbelievable, Olivia.”

I want to tease and ask how he can know. He isn’t even inside me yet.

But then he jerks his hips forward, and I’m parting around him like I was made for this.

He swallows my gasp with a kiss as he bottoms out inside of me. I’ve never been so full in my entire life. Tears form in my eyes from how damn perfect it feels.

But he isn’t moving. Why isn’t he moving? Is he confused about how this works? Am I?

His forehead rests against mine. “Look at me,” he whispers?—

—and so I do.

What I see in his eyes is more terrifying than any bullet I saw today. It’s not just desire—that would be simple, manageable, understandable.

It’s a hunger that looks exactly the way mine feels.

I try to close my eyes again, but he reaches up to squeeze my face in those hands. “No,” he snarls, sounding angry enough to startle me into keeping my eyes open. “I said you are to fuckinglookat me.”

Then he rears back and fucks into me hard.

I cry out because it’s just too much, all too fucking much. But giving me too much seems like a game to him.

He takes over, using and abusing my body like he knows way better than I do just how much it can take. He forces my thighs wide so he can smash his hips into mine with every brutal thrust. The bedframe quivers and whimpers, and so do I.

Unspeakable noises come out of me, but with his hand clamped around my face, I don’t dare look away. It’s just Stefan’s face I see, eyes black, jaw knotted.

It’s just Stefan’s body I feel, blanketing mine, protecting mine, violating mine with my full and desperate permission.

I’m trying to spit out curses or pleas or maybe prayers, I don’t even know, but he doesn’t give me room to talk. He just fucks me and fucks me. His free hand fastens around my throat, or it toys with my clit, or it scoops up under my ass to give him an angle to absolutely fucking destroy me.

And every third or fourth breath, he’ll growl out my name—“Olivia”—almost angrily, as if he’s fucking furious that I’m making him do this to me. Like it’s all my fault.

Maybe it is.

The tension rises in me to a peak and erupts. Then I’m coming beneath him. I feel the wetness increase and there’s no way in hell he doesn’t feel how hard I’m clenching around his thick cock.

But he doesn’t stop. Hell, he doesn’t even slow down. In fact, he just pulls out of me for a fraction of a second, flips me onto my belly with my legs dangling over the edge of the bed, and then he’s inside me again.