Alaric
"Harder," I managed to choke out, my voice muffled by the pillow.
He obliged instantly and the pace sharpened.
His thrusts turned sharper, the wet slap-slap-slap of skin on skin growing louder and faster. His cock dragged over my prostate on every single stroke, forcing sharp, punched-out moans from my throat.
The headboard began to knock rhythmically against the wall.
My own cock swung heavy between my legs, dripping onto the sheets below.
He shifted his angle without warning—leaning forward, pressing his chest flat against my back, one arm wrapping around my waist to haul me upright onto my knees.
The new position drove him even deeper.
My head fell back against his shoulder.
His free hand found my cock and stroked in time with his thrusts, his thumb swiping over the leaking head.
The dual stimulation was overwhelming and my thighs shook uncontrollably.
"Look at you," he murmured against my ear, his voice thick with desire. "Taking every single inch."
