Excerpt from The Last Kiss, by Laura Lampage. Reeve smacked. He loved it when I begged, but he didn't take me where I wanted to go.
Instead with his fingers pinching my chin, he twisted my face so that my cheek was pressed against the glass. Lurk, he said in reverence. The mirror ran the whole wall behind me, then wrapped around the vanity, so facing this direction, I could see our reflections in the glass, half eclipsed by the steam from the shower.
He let go of me long enough to wipe the fog, then resumed his grip on my jaw. I stared, transfixed by the sight of his cock driving into me over and over. With my focus where he wanted it, Reeve rearranged my legs, bringing one foot up to brace on the counter and propping the other in the sink.
Now I was angled so that my cunt could better be seen in the mirror. It was naughty and erotic, and I couldn't stop staring. Look.
At. That. He said again, his fingers jabbing into my skin.
The way you let me use you is so beautiful. Beautiful. It was beautiful, the way he had me spread out awkwardly across the bathroom sink, naked while he was still clothed.
It was vile and wicked and oh, so beautiful. I can't control myself when I'm inside you, his voice ragged and threadbare. I want to tear you apart.
I want to rip you to shreds. He moved both his hands to grasp at my thighs, tilting my pelvis so his thrusts hit even deeper. I want to destroy you.
I want to fuck you to pieces. I want to shatter you. I want to break you.
His awful, wonderful words such as stormed together low inside me, and I could tell this time that it wouldn't back down. I shifted my hands from the counter to his forearms to brace myself for its attack. The moment drew his attention from the mirror to my face.
Want to break you, he repeated, his words more of a rumble than actual speech. You do, I said, peering up under heavy lids, my voice a mere rasp. You do break me, every time.
Dave's eyes sparkled in awe, then the muscles in his neck grew taut and his rhythm stuttered. With a low growl, he froze and spilled into me, his fingers digging so deep into my skin that I was sure they'd leave bruises on my thighs. It was so hot, how he defiled and wrecked me, so hot how he loved to see me devastated.
So hot that I joined him in his release. My mouth felt open, my climax took over, coarsely racking through my body. Even with the mirror supporting my back, I was free-falling, spinning with pleasure.
Only a thin layer of sweat and steam covered my body, but it felt like I'd been pulled underwater into a whirlpool of bliss. Reeve put himself away, then watched me as I finish, as if completely enamoured by my orgasm, as if completely enamoured by me. It was somewhat disconcerting to feel his eyes so heavy on me, he'd seen me cum so many times before but I'd never noticed him so intent.
I lowered my gaze but he lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his stare head-on. With a gentle touch he swept a long block of sweat-drenched hair from my forehead. Every time.
He'd been tender with me in the past, but it wasn't his usual MO, and it startled me, moved me as I realised it came from a place of concern. Yes. I answered honestly, because he did break me, every time that he stuck his cock in me, every time that he made me climax, every time that he touched me.
Outside of the moment when the sex was over and we were people instead of sex-driven beasts it sounded horrible. He would want to be broken by her lover, he would want to be destroyed. I do.
I always did. I longed for it, I needed it, and I needed him. I caught his hand and pressed the back of it to my cheek.
It's the only reason I ever want to be someone who's put together, so that you can break me all over again.