it makes me so wet that I’m sure I’m going to leave a puddle on the floor.
‘Scream for me,’ he says. ‘I know you want to. You’re tight as fuck. Come on Verity, get loud.’
Not a two, I tell myself fiercely. Not a two. I turn my head to the side, close my eyes, and moan. Not too much. I don’t want it to sound fake.
‘Tell me you like it,’ he says. The armchair is creaking with the weight of his thrusts and the weight of me, and with each one, he pushes me further back into it, until I’m as far back as I can go.
‘I like it,’ I say. I try to get purchase on the leather, but it is too soft and my hands are too hot. I have to hold on to something, though, so I grab at Cal Bailey. His jumper isn’t enough, so I wrap my hands around his neck. That’s better. His skin is warm, smooth, strong. Still not enough. I shove my fingers up into his hair.
He groans, plants his hands on the arms of the chair, his weight keeping my knees back, and suddenly we’ve gone way past enough. I can feel the rub of his cock inside me, the friction, and the pleasure pain ache in my clit. I’m so frustrated I could scream, and when he fucks into me again, I do. Not with pleasure, but with irritation, with resentment for this body that is too big, too unwieldy, and won’t work as it should.
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