Black Room: Door 3 by Jade London & Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jade London & Jasinda Wilder [London, Jade]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

….

He kisses me as he comes.

His tongue tangles with mine, slipping and sliding, searching the cavity of my mouth, tracing the line of my gums, my teeth, ravaging my mouth, fierce and wild and demanding. And as his tongue plunders my mouth, as his lips slant and devour wet and hungry on mine—in unison with all this, he comes.

He grunts into my mouth, into the kiss. I feel his cum fill me, hot wet jets spasming out of his cock and splashing hard inside my cunt, and still he fucks me, slow pounding thrusts, unhurried, deliberate, hard, rough, primally brutal, and dizzyingly perfect, pushing my own climax to new shattering heights, and he keeps fucking until his cum squirts out around his cock and trickles along my labia and down my inner thighs, so much cum, so impossibly much because he’s still coming, and it’s filled me and is overflowing and dripping down my taint and into my ass.

And all the while he is kissing me.

Fucking me and kissing me.

Groaning against my lips, sucking my tongue into his mouth and groaning as if his entire being is being consumed as he comes inside my cunt, as if he can’t believe what he’s feeling—

I know I can’t.

It’s unreal, how this feels. To come, and come, and come, to taste his mouth and his tongue, and swallow his groans and suck down his moans, and clamp my cunt around his cock and feel his cum in me dripping out of me and down my thighs, to feel him, him, all of him, so much of him that it overwhelms me, overflows my soul and mind and heart exactly the way his hot wet thick sticky cum overflows my cunt.

When he can’t come anymore and neither can I, he finally stops kissing my bruised lips, and his eyes are fraught, open, wild, haunted, hunted, delirious, vulnerable.

In a split second, like this, with his eyes on mine, his secret inner self is bared to me.

And then he’s off me and across the cabin, hands braced on the smooth-hewn logs of the wall, his back heaving as he gasps for breath, ass taut as he presses against the wall with all his power, as if he’s trying to push over the wall.

Every line of his body is tensed. Every hard plane of muscle speaks of turmoil.

I leave the bed and move softly, carefully across the room to stand behind him. I’m still in denial, I think, still refusing to think about how and why I’m here. It’s easier to pretend that all this can mean something, that we could both move beyond the fact of my situation, the fact that he owns me, that I am stuck here in this tiny cabin in the far rugged wilderness of the mountains until and unless he sees fit to take me somewhere else. I could be stuck here forever, living with him.

In this moment, I think of none of that.

I think only of the agonized conflict written on his body.

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