Rearing back, he slides his other hand under my ass, splays me out over his thighs and fucks me in earnest. I can do nothing but grasp the covers beneath me and hold on. Throw myself at his mercy and let myself be broken on the waves of ecstasy.
With a groan that originates from my soul, I allow myself to be broken, to be used, to be worshipped. Because that’s what he’s doing. Each time he buries himself inside me, reshaping my pussy so only his dick will fit, he’s corrupting me and revering me. I’m his sinner and his goddess.
“Touch those gorgeous tits,” he says, and not waiting for me to obey, he grasps my wrists and raises my hands to my breasts. “Let me watch you play with them.”
I close my eyes, my fingers pinching and tweaking my nipples, plumping my breasts. My back arches, lust a living thing inhabiting me. Only he could get me to do this. To be this.
“That’s it.” His fingers slip over my stretched folds, wetting them, then he rubs my clit.
Oh fuck.
I can’t. I can’t.
“Yes, you can,” he says in a firm tone that he me racing to an edge that there’s no backing away from. I hadn’t been aware I’d voiced the words aloud. “Now, India.”
I detonate. Implode.
Above me, he continues to thrust, to stroke, to fuck me into oblivion, and I’m dimly aware of his roar as he throbs, filling the condom. But I’m too far flung, too far gone.
But before the darkness closes over me, a whisper of unease whispers across my soul.
There’s no going back.