“Count down,” he ordered. “What?” I breathed. “Count. Down.” He slipped two fingers through my wetness and pushed them inside of me. I arched my back, dug my nails into his shoulders, and groaned in pleasure and a little pain. This was rougher than anything I was used to, but it only seemed to spark a fuse inside me. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Count.” “Thirty . . .” I breathed. “Twenty-nine . . .” Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like the hit of a drug—a mind-numbing, breathtaking drug—as he slid his thick fingers in and out. He rubbed a spot deep inside of me, hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled
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Why is this so hot? 🥵
