He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.
‘You. Are. So. Sweet,’ he murmurs between each thrust. ‘I. Want. You. So. Much.’
‘You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby,’ he growls.
His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress, and Christian follows with two sharp thrusts, and he freezes, pouring himself into me as he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, his face in my hair.
And I don’t care how many copies it sold, it’s still f***ing terrible.”
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