I slump against his chest, chest heaving, thighs still shaking around his hand. “Please—”
“Please what?” He’s still moving, slower now, two fingers stroking lazily through my soaked p***y. “Please stop?” His laugh is strained. “Six minutes left. I only need one more.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His free hand wraps around my throat, fingers loose against my pulse, and I feel him feel my heartbeat hammering. “Your p***y can take one more. Give it to me.”
His fingers find their rhythm again, steady and deep, his thumb rolling my c**t in slow deliberate circles, and I am completely at his mercy and have been since I walked through that door and some part of me knew it then and came anyway. My thighs are locked around his hand. My nails are breaking skin on his forearm. The sounds coming out of
