Her warmth grips me like a vice, her pussy spasming around the tip of my cock, around the piercing that makes everything more sensitive. Fuck I won’t last.
“Please, Kingston,” she cries, pushing harder with her heels.
My restraint snaps and I slam so hard into her, she jerks up the bed. Her scream bounces off the walls.
“I told you I’d make you scream, love,” I hold her face, forcing her to keep her head up, “open your eyes, Eleanor.”
She doesn’t.
I jerk my hips, slamming in hard, “Open them!”
Her eyes snap open.
“Scream for me again.”
I quickly get to my knees, letting go of her face to grip her hips, jerking them off the bed and in this position, with her hips higher I can get in deeper, go harder, faster. My hips piston as I fuck her, fingers bruising.
“Oh God!” she moans.
“God can’t help you now, love,” I slow my hips, sliding in deep, rubbing the piercing against the sweet spot just inside, the rough texture of it rubbing against the crown of my cock, “now, scream!”
I run my thumb over her clit, slow, careful movements, watching her face as the pleasure grips her every being, watching the way her body moves, how it writhes beneath my touch.
“Shatter for me,” I tell her, my stroke turning punishing as I push her between the lines of pleasure and pain.
She erupts.
Her scream of pleasure rips through my very core, and her pussy clamps around my cock, convulsing as her orgasm takes her away.
“Fuck,” I rasp, my hips slamming into her, our skin slapping together, and I come with a roar, spilling myself in her, her walls still clenching, slowing as her body calms.
I land on top of her, holding my weight so as to not crush her. Her breathing is a sharp, quick rasp in my ear.
That wasn’t enough. I need more. I need more of her.
Slowly, I withdraw from her body, feeling the loss of her instantly.
“You didn’t wear a condom,” her voice is quiet, small, incredibly small compared to how she screamed just a few moments ago.
“I’m clean.” I turn to face her to find her own turned away from me, “I know you are too. And you’re on your birth control.”
I expect a reaction to that, I expect her to lash out at the invasion of privacy, but she only sighs and curls up, covering herself with her hands.
“Eleanor,” I say gently, “love.”
She turns slightly but still doesn’t show me her face.
“Don’t be ashamed of your desires or of what you want. You owe it to yourself to take what pleasure you can no matter what form it comes in.”
“I’d like to go home.” She says.