My p***y clenches around nothing, hot and messy, slick pooling between my thighs like my body is trying to get his c**k inside me without his help.
“Connor,” I say again, voice breaking around his name, “I want to see it. I want to see your c**k. The c**k I moaned about while I came into my fingers. The c**k I picture every time I’m alone and aching. I want to see the massive f*****g c**k I’ve been dreaming about sliding inside me while I cry into your chest and beg for more.”
He tilts his head at me like he’s trying to decide whether to ruin me slow or rip me open on the spot. Then his hand moves.
He brings it up to my face, and I feel his fingers trace over my lips. Like he’s marking me, reminding me who I belong to before I even get the chance to speak again.
Then he drags that same
