“Dylan, I’m close,” I pant. “Beg for it, sunshine.” When I don’t respond fast enough, he slows down his pace, pushing into me in short, shallow strokes. I don’t miss his smug smile as I squirm against him, my body desperate for release. “Beg. For. It.” Another surge of arousal crashes through me at his demanding tone. “Please let me come, Dylan, please,” I whine, urgently needing a reprieve. “That’s my good girl,” he croons. He pounds into me without restraint.
I’m a fucking puddle
