unbearably intense. She could feel every inch of him, the stretch and burn mixing with pleasure in a way that made her brain short-circuit.
He gripped her hip bone with one hand like a vice, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, marking her. His other hand tangled in her hair, not pulling, just holding, controlling, a reminder of who was in charge.
The slap of skin against skin was obscenely loud in the quiet room, punctuated by her increasingly desperate cries and his harsh breathing. She was completely exposed to him in this position, her most intimate parts on display, unable to hide any reaction or response.
Each thrust drove her forward slightly, only for him to yank her back by the hips, impaling her again. The rhythm was brutal, relentless, inhuman. She didn't know how he had the stamina, the strength, the control to maintain this pace.
