He shifted, opening one and putting it on my wrist, then the other. Even though I was pressed into the table by his formidable body, I didn’t feel threatened. It felt like he was giving me a gift of some kind, something precious.
I just had no idea what.
“They’re beautiful,” I heard myself say.
He growled again, the rumbling of it vibrating from his chest and into my back. “Mine. Bad girl. Fuck now.”
I had no idea why I’d be a bad girl, especially if his cock was as big as it felt. I wanted it.
“Yes. Do it!” I spread my legs wider, not sure what he expected, but knowing I didn’t care. I wanted him to fuck me now. I didn’t want to be good. I wanted to be bad. Very, very bad.
Evidently, I’d lost my mind because I had no idea what he looked like. Who he was. Where I was. But none of that mattered. And why did the idea of being manhandled or even spanked appeal like it never had before?
He shifted his hips, slid his cock over my folds, and it settled at my entrance. I felt the broad head, so big that it parted my slick lips, and as he pressed in, I whimpered.
He was huge. Like enormous. He was careful as he filled me, as if he knew he might be too much.
I shifted my hips, tried to take him, but my inner walls clenched and squeezed, tried to adjust. My hands couldn’t find purchase on the smooth surface, and I lowered myself down, put my cheek against the wood, angling my hips up.
He slid in a touch farther.
I gasped, shook my head. “Too big.” My voice was soft, breathy. He wasn’t. He’d fit. He might hurt me, might shock me, but I wanted him. Every damn inch.
“Shh,” he crooned.
From nowhere, a memory surfaced of this male speaking to me when I’d been worried about this moment. His beast—what was a beast?—You can take a beast’s cock. You were made for it. You were made for me.
As he slid in to the hilt and I felt his hips press against my bottom, I had to agree with him. I was milking him and clenching down, adjusting to being filled so much, but it felt good.
God, did it ever.
“Ready, mate?”
Ready? For what? He was already in.
But when he pulled back all the way so my folds clung to him before he plunged deep, I realized I hadn’t been ready.
The pounding stole the breath from my lungs, but I almost came. I had no idea how because I’d never come from just vaginal penetration only. I needed to rub my clit with my own fingers.
When he did it again, I realized fingers were definitely not needed.
“Yes!” I cried. I couldn’t help it. I wanted it. Needed it. I shimmied, pressed back as he plunged in once more.
His hand moved, gripped my wrists, held onto the bracelets.
He held me down and fucked me.
There was no escape. No reprieve. No stopping him as the orgasm built into a dangerous thing. And I wanted all of it. I wanted him.
“Come. Now. Scream. I fill you up.”
He was a dirty talker, too. Not much for complete sentences, but that was part of his charm.
I was so drenched for him I could hear the wet slap of our bodies as he pounded into me. I could feel the wet coating in the cool air, slipping from me and down my thighs.
Holding me down with one hand, he grabbed my bottom with the other, a full lobe in his grasp, pulling me open. Wider.
He pushed deeper. Harder. I thrashed on the table, both excited and vulnerable, stretched out before him. Unable to move. Unable to resist. I had to accept whatever he wanted to give me. Trust. Surrender.