My eyes roll back, the world dissolving until the only reality left is the sharp slap of skin against skin, the guttural sounds tearing from both our throats. Each thrust rattles through me like a strike of lightning.
Then his hand, huge, unrelenting, wraps around my throat, and the air cuts off. The restriction sends my head spinning, a wild surge of pleasure rushing straight to my cock. I would be lying if I pretended it didn't make everything ten times hotter.
"Harder," I whisper, though the word comes out cracked and desperate.
"What was that, Blueie?" Mateo teases, his mouth grazing my ear as he bites down lightly on my lobe. His grip on my throat stays firm, his cock still driving into me like he's determined to break me apart.
God help me. I never realized how much I craved this, his roughness, his dominance, until now. And the worst part? The shameful part? I love it. I crave it.
"Harder," I repeat, louder this time, moaning into the air.
