“You have all of me, now,” I whisper, my lips moving against his earlobe. “I want you to have me, Kane. I am for you, only for you.”
“Ah god, fuck—Anjalee…” he gasps, breathless, not even a growl anymore or a rumble, but a breathless whisper, shaking with intensity. “Anj, my god, my Anjalee.”
“Yes, Kane. Yes.YourAnjalee. I amyourAnjalee.”
He groans, deep in his throat and chest. His hands rake through my hair and grasp my shoulders, then scrape down my spine, calluses rough against my skin. He cradles my bottom in his hands. Lifts me. I whimper, fraught, as his cock slides and stutters through my tight, hot, wet sex, until he is almost out of me.
A moment, then. A flutter of his hips, a delicate, shallow wave of tiny thrusts, just the very head skimming in and out of my lips.
And then, the most incredible moment of my entire life, bar none—he thrusts all the way into me, all at once, without stopping. I scream, and my head drops to his chest, and I scream into the thick muscle of his pectoral, and then I rake my teeth over his shoulder and I bite him, crazed with ecstasy as his cock sinks into me deeper and deeper until he bottoms out and I have all of him.
“Again,” I demand, nails clawing into his chest as I push myself upright. “Kane,again, please—now!”
With a rough, bruising grip on my bottom, he pulls me up, and now there is no moment of hesitation at the top—the fat, plump tip nestled between the lips of my pussy, just for a blink of my eyes, and then he hauls me down. Slowly, carefully. He shakes all over, abs curled tight to lift his shoulders and head up, watching where our bodies join, watching me as I take him.
He pries his fingers away from my bottom, palms smoothing delicately where his fingertips had been digging in. “Too rough. Gonna leave marks.”
I shake my head, my belly pressing against his, cock rooted in me. I dig my fingers harder into his chest. Roll my hips, move them subtly, back and forth, tilting my sex forward and backward, feeling him sliding through me, in me.
“Again, Kane.”
He shakes his head. “Anj…”
I lift up, my eyes on his, bold need raging in my veins. Sink down, and not gently, this time.
“Fuck,” he snarls. “Fucking hell—Anj, my god.”
His hands spasm, curling hard into my bottom, and I let a whimper out, and I can only hope he understands it is a whimper ofyes, not of pain. He drags me up, and I move with him, and I do not let him wait, do not let him pause at the top of our thrust—it is me who initiates the beautiful slick downward slide.
“It is perfect, Kane,” I whisper. “Perfect. I do not want it to ever stop. Not ever, not ever.”
“Me either, Anj,” he huffs, gasping. “Fuck, me either.”
We move together, then. He thrusts into me, and I lift up to guide the pulling away. And when he begins to thrust, I lower myself, meeting him. Taking him.
“Touch yourself, Anj,” he orders. “Finger yourself. Make yourself come.”
“I wantyouto come, Kane.”
He laughs, a ragged groaning laugh. “I will, beautiful, I promise I will. You’re gonna make me come so fucking hard, Anj, I can feel it building. Gonna rip me to fuckin’ pieces, honey. But I needyouto come first, so I can.”
I press a palm to his belly and angle myself so I can fit my middle finger to my clitoris, and I touch myself the way he touches me—softly, gently, slowly. But, immediately, I know that is not what I want, not what I need. I am there, I am already built up nearly to the peak just from the beauty of our lovemaking. But I need more to reach the peak, especially after having come so many times already, so hard, for so long. Somehow, he knows this.
I give in to instinct, not thinking, only feeling. My fingers fly. Press almost hard, circling fast. And something breaks in me, something snaps—the last hint of sanity, of control.
My hips immediately begin to spasm, bucking helplessly into my touch—which forces me into moving on him. My sex gushes, wetness coating him, and I feel him inside me, harder, thicker, hotter. I cry out, my belly tightening, climax shaking me, making my hips thrash—I claw my fingers into his heavy hard chest and tilt myself forward. Shaking, spasming, fingers a blur, I feel the climax rip out of me, starting in my toes it feels like, spreading to my thighs and then my pussy, and then my belly and my chest and my lungs and my eyes—I see stars, and I hear myself screaming, hoarse, guttural.
I slam down, lift up, shaking and whimpering through an orgasm so powerful it eclipses all the others Kane has ever given me by an order of magnitude. I feel my sex clenching around him, tightening and tightening.
“Ah fuck, Anj, fuck baby—you’re so goddamntight.”
“Come with me, my Kane,” I whimper, begging, pleading. “Please, please, please—my Kane, my beautiful Kane, please let go,pleasecome with me.” The last part is in Hindi, I realize.
I do not care. If anything, even if he does not know what I am saying, it seems to draw him out, making him wilder.
“Talk to me, baby,” he urges. “Keep talking, Anj. I fuckin’ love the sound of your voice.”
“Give me your orgasm,” I tell him, in English. “Now, please now. With me, right now. Hurry, Kane. Hurry and come with me.”
