Page 117 of Maybe You

“Please,” I gasp.

He twists his fingers and strokes over my prostate.

My whole body seems to seize up for a moment, and I let out a hoarse sob when pleasure coils deep inside me, thick and heavy and hot.

“Please,” I repeat with more desperation.

“Baby.” He kisses my shoulder, sounding almost reverent. “Fuck, just look at you.” My only consolation is that he sounds as wrecked as I feel.

Those soft feelings lessen somewhat when he pulls his fingers out again, adds a third one, and starts the slow in-and-out-again torture all over again.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I say again.

His huff of laughter vibrates through me.

“This is torture for me too, you know.”

“Then do something about it,” I snap.

He just hums in reply, and for a while, the slow torture continues. I try to jerk my hips backward in short thrusts in time with his movements, but he’s too unpredictable, so in the end all it does is create more frustration.

“Next time I’ll let you fuck yourself on my fingers,” he murmurs into my ear. “For now, behave.”

“Asshole,” I say, but I hold still as best as I can.

Sutton hums again.

“Yours is perfect,” he says.

Another shiver rushes down my spine.

I give up.

He can do whatever the hell he wants with me, and I’ll just try not to die from desperation while he’s at it.

He’s three fingers deep inside me now, stroking and massaging, and all I can do is hold on for the ride, half-insane with need and an all-around incoherent mess.

So when he pulls his fingers out altogether, I can’t handle it.

“Please,” I practically sob out. “Oh, please, don’t. You can’t stop.”

“Not stopping,” Sutton grunts. “Baby,” he adds, and it sounds soft, even if his eyes are wild and his body tight when I look at him over my shoulder.

He tears the condom open and rolls it down his length. He pushes my leg up and then the head of his cock is nudging at my opening, and this isn’t just a finger anymore, but even so, my ass is in such a state of relaxation that it doesn’t take him any effort to work the tip of his cock inside me.

He starts pushing in, slow and easy. The stretch is still accompanied by a faint burn, but it’s not bad. After a moment, it starts to feel like just another component of pleasure. Something that makes the pleasure sharper. More real.

He’s inside me then, hips flush against my ass.

We both let out simultaneous groans.

He waits until my body adjusts.

I roll my hips experimentally, and he lets out a long, “Fuuuuuck!”

“You need to move,” I say tightly, pushing back. “You really need to fucking move, so fucking move.”

“Wren,” he says.