Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

He inhales sharply, and I can tell he’s close. I can feel his cock quivering under my tongue.

“I missed you,” I whisper around him.

His dark eyes hold mine. I begin to flick my tongue over the end of him, something I know forces him to either come or fuck. He has nowhere to go when I do this. He can’t hide.

His body convulses. He grabs two handfuls of my hair to hold me in place and he begins to fuck my mouth with deep pumps. I gag at how rough he’s being and pull off him. Saliva streams from my lips to his cock.

“Fuck.” He moans at the sight of it. “Fucking hell.”

Before I know what’s happening, he flips me and has me pinned to my back, my legs spread wide.

His dark eyes hold mine as he slides in deep with one hard thrust.

My body convulses, and he pulls out only to slam back into me even harder. “Ouch, Spence,” I whisper. “Be careful.”

He flips me onto my knees. “Famous last words,” he growls as he slaps me hard on the behind and slams in deep, driving me into the mattress.

Oh shit!

He has a handful of my hair in one hand, while the other is holding my shoulder as he slams my body back onto his.

I can feel him so deep inside of me, and he’s so thick. He’s getting faster and faster, and, oh God, I can’t deal with how rough he’s being. But damn, I need this. The sound of our skin slapping together is echoing around the room.

“Spence,” I moan as the air is knocked from me. “Oh God.”

He grabs my shoulder and pushes me down to the mattress. His cock reaches a new, deeper place. A guttural moan leaves my body, and he slaps me on the behind again.

“Take it.” He hisses. “Take it.”

I clench and scream into the pillow as I see stars, my body thumping as an orgasm tears through me. He keeps working me at such a fast pace. I can only grip the sheets beneath me and feel the stretching burn of his possession. He holds himself deep and throws his head back, and I feel the jerk of his cock deep inside of me.

But instead of the tender strokes he usually empties himself with, this time is different. He continues to fuck me hard, banging pumps, as if my body is only a tool that he’s using to empty his pleasure into.

There is no emotion in his touch.

It’s as cold as ice.

With each hit, my tears form. This is foreign to me—so different to how we usually make love.

It’s like he’s a stranger.

He slaps me on the behind once more, and then he pulls out. Without a word, he gets up and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

I lie in shock, my body still quivering from the orgasm I just had. My breathing is ragged as I gasp for air.

Dear God, what the hell was that?

I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling through my blurred vision.

Fuck this.

I get up and storm into the bathroom. He’s in the shower, soaping up.

“What the hell was that?” I demand.

He glares at me. “I’d like to fucking know, too.”

I scowl in confusion. “What do you mean? You just fucked me like you don’t even know me.”