Beneath one hand his abs tightened, spasming tightly as her mouth worked over the flared crest of his c**k and sucked at it hungrily.
She could have sworn he pulsed in her mouth, a small ejaculation as the taste of spice filled her senses. She hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected that rich, male taste to infuse her, to drive her hunger higher.
Her fingers curled over the shaft, feeling it flex and throb as she stroked, sucked, relished each taste of him.
The feel of his hands threading through her hair, his fingers clenching in the strands as a hard growl left his throat, sent pure pleasure sizzling through her body. His fingers kneaded her scalp, his hips thrust forward, and Storme was certain she would explode from the sheer excitement of feeling his pleasure as she gave it.
It made her own pleasure rise higher, made her hotter, wetter, more desperate to feel him inside her.
A ragged cry pulled at her throat as he pulled back, forcing her to release him as he jumped from the bed. He shed his clothing quickly. Boots, pants, they dropped to the floor, leaving him gloriously naked as he came back to her, pushing her to the bed as he hovered over her.
His thighs spread hers, his fingers tested her readiness once again before Storme felt the heavy press as the wide head of his c**k parted the folds of her pu**y.
Instantly, hunger flooded through her. She thought she had wanted, that she had ached before. It was nothing compared to the need assailing her now. The muscles of her vagina flexed and shuddered as he began parting her. Slow and easy, he began working the heavy flesh inside, stretching and burning her as Storme felt a wash of dizzying euphoria begin to overtake her.
It was pleasure and pain. A burning, exquisite ecstasy that began to rise and build inside her with each inch that penetrated her.
Storme felt the width of the crest pushing inside her, the throb of it, a spurt of heat and then a blinding wildfire of pure pleasure racing through her.
Arching, she tried to drive him further as she felt her pu**y clenching, milking the head of his c**k as her juices flowed around it.
It was incredible. Blinding, delicious heat unlike anything she could have imagined as she gasped and stared up at him in dazed wonder.
"Styx," she whispered his name on a sob. "Oh God. What are you doing to me?"
"Loving you, lass." His voice was so deep, so filled with tenderness that for a moment, fear almost overwhelmed the sensations.
"What are you doing to me?" she asked again. Was this normal? She had never known anything like this, never felt anything like it.
Her thighs opened wider, knees bending, legs lifting until they cradled his hips, opening herself further to him as her hands smoothed down his biceps and back again.
The muscles were tight beneath her touch, sweat sheening his face as she stared up at him.
"Giving you pleasure, Sugar," he crooned as he smoothed dampened strands of her hair back from her cheek. "Just pleasure, love."
"I was cold," she whispered, wondering where the hell those words had come from and why they were escaping her lips now.
His gaze flared. "Are ye cold now, lass?" His voice was strained as she felt his c**k move deeper, felt it throbbing tight and hard as her pu**y strained to accommodate him then relaxed marginally as another deep, heated pulse of se**n ejaculated inside her.
A sob tore from her throat as the pleasure built, as the need for more began to throb inside her. It was like fingers of flames burning across the sensitive flesh.
"I'm not cold now." She could feel the whimper in her voice, feel too many emotions, too many fears threatening to flood her as with one final thrust he buried deep inside her.
"Styx." A sob jerked from her. "Don't let me think."
It was there, the threat of reality returning to steal this moment from her as the fear threatened to return.
These sensations were too unusual, too hot and striking too deep inside her pu**y.
"No thinking allowed, Sugar. Sweet, sweet little lass. No thinking allowed in my arms."
And he wasn't lying.
Tucking her closer against him, he began to move again, thrusting strong and deep, as though each impalement was an exercise in restraint and control. His hips shifted, moved, worked his c**k inside her, filled her and opened her until he was moving with harder, stronger strokes.
Storme wrapped her legs around his hips, her head pressing back into the bed, her nails digging into his flesh as the first cry tore from her.
He was f**king into her as though the hunger had the same hold on him that it had on her. As though he shared the pleasure-pain sensations and they were imprisoning him, locking inside him as they were inside her.
Each stroke pushed her higher, dug deeper inside her until she was crying out his name, her hips writhing beneath him as the need for release began to torment her, to claw at her womb and shudder through her pu**y.
Each thrust raked his pelvis against her clit, stroking that little bud closer to release as she cried out his name and fought to find an anchor while ecstasy began to overwhelm her.
It was a hopeless battle. There was no anchor, no way to hold herself to the earth as her orgasm began to overtake her. Each hard thrust stroked her higher, driving deep as he f**ked her faster, harder, a growl tearing from his throat and igniting that last flame that struck the fuel of rapture.
Storme felt herself explode. She felt that first strike of agonizing sensation before it overtook her and threw her so high, so hard, into a maelstrom of pure heat that she lost all concept of right and wrong, reality and fantasy.
She felt him above her, thrusting, heard him groaning, and a second later the heat of his release as it burned through her pu**y and pushed her higher.