Flames Of Hot & Steamy Collection
The arm holding my wrist flexed.
“You want it,” he said, voice dropping lower. “You want me to shut you up the only way that works.”
“I want you to go to hell.”
“No you don't.” he murmured. He stroked me faster, fist tight, using my own precum as lube until the sound turned wet and filthy. My hips kept moving without my permission—small, aborted thrusts into his hand. Shame burned hot under my skin. Hate burned hotter. I could feel how soaked I already was, the head of my cock glossy and dripping onto the floor in slow drops.