Panting, he covers my back with his front as he stays buried inside me.
“I don’t share, Tesoro. Not anything and especially not you.”
I could lie to myself and say he’s talking on a professional level, but it feels different. It feels personal.
It feels real, somehow.
“Marco.”
As though he regrets showing me this vulnerable side of him, he pulls out and slams right back inside me. Fucking me like a punishment and holding me like a lifeboat.
He’s both hurting me and pleasuring me.
He’s the yin to his own yang, a contradiction with every one of his movements.
I’m so close to losing my own control, close to coming all over his pistoning cock, that I almost miss his change in rhythm.
My ears are ringing with the force of his fucks but I’m sure the sound I’m hearing is him rummaging through the drawers at his side and the cupboards above us. What the fuck?
From the corner of my eye, I see him reach for a green bottle and realize it’s olive oil.
“Marco?”
Without answering me, he uses one hand to unscrew the bottle and suddenly the thick liquid is pouring down the crack of my ass.
“Marco, what are you doing?” My voice is urgent, my ass cheeks stinging from the force of his belt, my pussy clenching around his thick cock, begging him to move, to thrust, to fuck me harder and faster.
“You’re so beautiful like this, Tesoro. Naked and at my mercy. Scared and aroused all at the same time.” More oil is poured over my ass cheeks and back to my asshole again before he returns the bottle to the counter.
One finger slides into my puckered hole with little resistance, his fondness for butt plugs making a whole lot of sense right now.
Two fingers in and he still hasn’t moved his cock. Where the fuck does he get the restraint to sit fully inside me while playing with my hole?
My walls are squeezing his dick, all those Pilates classes coming in quite handy right about now.
“Fuck, do that again. Squeeze my dick, River. Beg. Me. For my cock.” It’s like he’s unhinged yet completely in control of his actions. Like every time he’s clenched his fists and his jaw it was a warning for this very moment.
Three fingers and the tightness from the invasion is so uncomfortable I’m afraid his cock will slide right out.
Pushing his fingers all the way inside, he reaches back for the bottle and pours a steady stream of olive oil all over my ass again. We’re slippery, our clothes ruined, my mind on overdrive as he leans in and growls.
“Your cunt is mine.” Pulling out, he slams back in so hard my entire body slides over the counter, my head tapping the wall. “This ass is mine.”
That’s when my doubts become truths.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a fucking Fourth of July fireworks festival. My skin is buzzing, my heart rate threatening to burst through my rib cage, my knees weak from the awkward position. Yet… I want it. I want to feel him own me in the one place I’ve let no one possess me.
But I can’t.
Can I?
What does that mean if I give in to him? What does it say about this whole situation?
“Say it, River. Say the fucking words.”
“No.” God yes, please.
“Tell me this cunt is mine.” One hand reaches up to my shoulder to hold me down, his grip hindered by the amount of oil on my skin.