Savior (Savages 3)

His hand slid to the back of my neck and I opened my mouth. "Good, then get to fucking work already," he demanded with a smirk before jerking my head forward and burying deep into my mouth, making my throat clench hard once before my gag reflex settled.

Paine liked rough the vast majority of the time.

There were times he could be unexpectedly sweet and soft and gentle, like the first time we'd had sex after I'd been beaten up. He'd slid inside me slowly from behind as we spooned and made sweet, gentle love to me until an orgasm moved through me with enough intensity to make me cry.

But, that wasn't the usual.

The usual was fast, rough, uninhibited, spanking, hair-pulling, demanding sex.

And I was greedy for every bit of it.

Even when he had me on my knees, holding my head still by the back of my neck as he fucked my mouth fast and rough as he pleased, taking every bit of control from me, which was exactly what he was doing until he released my head.

I sat back on my ankles, wiping my face of spit and pre-cum for a second before his hand sank into the hair at the nape of my neck, curled, and dragged me upward.

"On the table," he growled, reaching behind his back to pull off his shirt as I got up and sat at the edge of the table. He moved in to stand at my knees, my skirt too tight to allow me to spread my legs for him. His hands grabbed the front of my shirt, jerking it out of my skirt, holding it at each side, and pulling hard, making the buttons open. And by open, I mean pop off, scattering noisily around the room. I sucked in my breath at the carefully contained violence of it, my pussy clenching hard in excitement, as his hands grabbed the cups of my bra and dragged them roughly down, exposing my breasts. His thumbs and forefingers took my hardened nipples, squeezing and twisting them hard, making a half-groan, half-gasp escape me as my system sparked with the erotic twinge of pain and pleasure. "How hard are you willing to work on this, Miss. Bay?" he asked, doing another twist.

I sucked in a slow breath. "I can be worked as hard as you need to work me, sir."

"God damn right you can," he growled, releasing my nipples, grabbing me behind the knees, and jerking hard, sending me flying backward as my hips left the table. As soon as my back was on the table, his hands grabbed the hem of my skirt and tugged it upward, reaching between my thighs and ripping off my lacy panties. He wasn't in a teasing mood and the second after I was exposed to him, his cock slammed into me hard and deep, making me arch up off the table and try to plant my heels to allow me to thrust up into him. "No," he snapped, grabbing my ankles as my feet finally hit the table and pulling my legs upward, settling them both onto his left shoulder. One hand held them there, the other pressed down hard on my lower stomach, making me feel him deeper, more intensely.

Then he was thrusting, fast and deep, his pace the manic, unrelenting, predictable pace that made my orgasm build strong and fast, leaving me panting for breath as he pistoned inside me, demanding the kind of climax that threatened to make me dumb.

"Come babygirl," he demanded as his hand released my ankles and closed around my throat, just hard enough to make my head start to get fuzzy as he thrust in and jerked up, hitting that spot deep inside that pinched in the most delicious way.

Then I came, my legs jerking so hard that my shoes smacked into the side of his face, which in no way slowed him as he slammed inside me through it, dragging it out as I cried out his name. As I collapsed back onto the table, he slammed deep, growling out my name as he came inside me.

He pulled my legs off his shoulders so he could press forward over my chest, claiming my lips with none of the demands or violence of his fucking, kissing me sweet and deep, before pulling back. "Never gets old," he said when I opened my eyes.

"Never will," I agreed, wrapping my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders, knowing deep down in my soul that that was the absolute truth.Elsie- 6 Years"Mom!" I heard bellowed as the front door crashed into the wall, footsteps running toward me in the kitchen, completely unconcerned with the loud bleeping of the alarm system. "Mom, guess what?" I heard as the alarm stopped beeping just as four year old Jackson barreled into the room, his muddy sneakers dropping dirt everywhere as he came to a skidding stop right in front of me. He was an exact, perfect, tiny replica of his father (and Uncle Enzo) with his tan skin, light green eyes, and uncharacteristic height and shoulder-width for his age.