"Does my dirty w***e like that?" he whispered into my ear.
I nodded my head with effort, my throat hoarse from my muffled screams. No words passed between us after that, but I could hear him panting and groaning with pleasure. With my own moans muffled, I heard him so clearly, enjoying me and the memory we were making. Indulging in his own pleasure instead of just fixating on mine.
Obviously this wasn't the most romantic way I could have fantasised about him, but when it started I hadn't meant to fall for him. Calling me a dirty w***e wasn't exactly sweet, but all I heard was him checking in on me, knowing he was being rough and controlling every aspect of what was happening. Wanting to make sure I was okay. He made me feel like a vulnerable mess, but in his hands that was okay because I
