Fangs in Frosting by Cynthia Sax Page B

perfection.” I admire my handiwork. I want to suck his cock, to taste him, but if I do, he’ll come, and I desperately need his hard cock in my pussy.
    As though reading my lusty thoughts, Viktor snaps the ribbon legs of my panties, removing the scrap of yellow cotton, revealing my cleanly shaven mons. He destroyed my panties during our last fuck-for-all also. At this rate, I’ll be going commando by the end of the month.
    This might not be a bad thing. I sigh with satisfaction as he parts my pussy lips to probe my wet hole with the tip of his massive cock. Fuck foreplay. My serious guy is making a run at the grand prize.
    I don’t block him. Hell no. I’m not insane. Properly aligned, he slams home, ramming into me, filling my slick channel with too much shaft, and I scream, the pain deliciously raw and intense, with a residual burn warming all of me.
    “Fuck.” Viktor expresses my thoughts with that one word. He leans his forehead against mine, and he waits until his breathing steadies and he regains his icy cool demeanor. I feel all of him inside me, the bloom of his cockhead, the veins on his shaft, and the prickly hairs curling around his base. I also feel a hum of connection like I know him, truly know him, inside and out, and he’s a part of me.
    It may be because of the close fit, but I suspect it’s not, and that scares the shit out of me, because I’ve tried this relationship recipe before with men I cared squat about, and it ended in burned crust disaster. With Viktor, it’ll result in a five-alarm fire in my heart. We’re talking total burn out.
    I can’t think about impending heartache now. My body is begging for movement, my craving for the glide of cock in pussy unbearable. “Fuck me, Viktor.” I grab a handful of pale, firm man ass, and squeeze.
    This propels him into motion. He pulls out, and slams back into me, pulls out, slams in, again and again and again. The man is a fucking machine, driving his cock into my pussy to a punishing pulsing tempo, angling his entry to rub all the parts of me needing rubbing.
    “Ride me harder.” I hold onto his tight ass, digging my fingernails into his skin, marking him, and I tilt my hips into his thrusts, taking him so deep, he’s breaking new ground. “Woo wee.” He’s rocking my body.
    Viktor grunts as he fucks me, and the primitive sound excites me because Viktor is a suave, sophisticated dude, and he’ll never knowingly make a harsh noise like this. Not to be outdone, I pant and moan and call his name, my ass sliding on the metal tabletop, the legs of the work surface squeaking across ceramic tile.
    “Charlotte, my Charlotte,” he murmurs over and over, reassuring me that he knows whose pussy he’s ramming his big cock into. “My dear, sweet Charlotte.” His voice deepens with each thrust until it is a low rumble, shaking me like the after tremors of a California earthquake.
    I don’t need any more stimulation, as my body pulses, and my pussy tightens so much around his shaft, I hurt. “Viktor?” If I don’t come soon, I’ll lose my fucking mind, and then we’ll see some sick ass stuff, believe me.
    “Come for me, beloved.” He follows this tender endearment with a circular swoop of his hips, grinding his cock against my pussy walls, and I shatter, screaming, reaching for him blindly because I’m coming so hard, all I see is blackness.
    He bends his head, sucking on my neck, withdrawing completely, but before I can curse him out properly, he thrusts forward. A sharp prick on my skin punctuates his release, cum shooting out of his cock, bathing my quivering womb.
    The pain prompts a second round of pussy-flooding rapture. I shiver and shake, secured in Viktor’s strong arms. He gives my neck a couple of comforting licks, easing this lingering hurt. He’s a biter. I suspected this during the previous zippy fuck, but I have confirmation now, and this kink of his curls my toes because I’d like to nibble on him also.
    Who am I