The kitchen was still humming with heat when Derek finally pulled out.
A thick rope of his c*m immediately followed, sliding warm and obscene down the inside of my thigh. I shivered, legs trembling, still bent over the counter like I’d been mounted and claimed.
He didn’t let me move.
Big hands gripped my waist, flipping me around so my back hit the cold granite. My spent c**k twitched uselessly against my stomach, oversensitive. His eyes—dark, predatory—raked over me like I was meat he’d just tenderized.
“Look at the mess you made,” he rumbled, nodding at the streaks of my own c*m painted across the cabinet doors. Then his gaze dropped lower, to where his load was slowly leaking out of my wrecked hole. “And look at the mess I made.”
He dragged two thick fingers through the dripping c*
