Master of the Deep by Cleo Peitsche Page B

sucked on her peak, alternating his gentle treatment with nips.  
    And all the while, his thick cock was just inside her, holding her open. If she hadn’t liked him so very much, she might have hated him. No man should have such perfect self-control. She felt like someone else completely, like some sex-crazed woman who wouldn’t stop at anything to get her pussy stuffed full of hard cock.
    It was a bit uncomfortable to realize that. If Koenraad had chosen to be the womanizing playboy that was his birthright, she wouldn’t have stopped wanting him. She couldn’t have stayed out of his bed. Only his kindness kept her from becoming the type of woman who would put up with any manner of horrible treatment.
    And no man had made her feel like that before.  
    She was lost. He had made her lost. But she felt found, too, like no one had truly fucked her, or made love to her, ever before.
    He took her self-control. Around him, it was like she’d never had any to begin with.
    He’d gathered her full breasts together, and she was having a hard time staying upright. Her wrists were locked, her palms pressing hard against the unknown smooth, hard surface.  
    “Fuck me,” she said, the words so gentle that she might as well have asked him to make love to her on a bed of fragrant red roses.
    “Since you asked so nicely, I will,” he said, his words harshly choked out. He yanked the front of her dress down to her waist. She struggled against the fabric, twisting her torso until her arms were freed, and she heard him suck in a breath.
    Damn, it felt good to drive a man wild with desire. And because she knew he liked that she’d asked, she asked again. “Please fuck me, Koenraad. I’m so horny for you. So wet, want you so bad you have no idea.”
    He drove into her, and her body instantly clenched around him. She arched her back and cried out, her fingers digging into his shirt, pulling him closer even though the sensations rocketing through her body were so intense that she wanted to push him away.  
    Everything was dark inside the abandoned bowling alley, but Monroe felt like fireworks were exploding, like she was staring into the sun.
    She twisted her fingers tighter into his shirt and held on as he rode her hard, driving mercilessly into her. It was like he knew that she needed it rough right now. Or maybe she was responding to something in him.  
    All that mattered was that they were on the same wavelength, and as her body thrashed under his merciless pounding, everything except Koenraad fell away. She didn’t care about anything else. If the world ended, let it end.  
    Koenraad made a noise halfway between a groan and a growl, and Monroe’s body answered by tightening every muscle. She was tensed from top to bottom, and her pussy squeezed his cock even as she felt slippery wetness drenching everything, and it wasn’t from him; he was still hard, still thrusting with short, deep strokes.
    He grabbed her ass, squeezing her soft flesh in his strong fingers. Any other time, she would have pulled away, but his frantic, carnal thrusting told her just how sexy he found her curves.
    She felt his cock pumping, pulsing, emptying. She pressed her palms against his brawny, heaving chest. “More,” she gasped. His body was every bit as tensed as hers, and her climax squeezed him, making him shudder.
    Slowly, slowly, slowly, he lowered his hands. She felt wetness spilling out of her as her buttocks returned to the hard surface of the table. His cock was still mostly inside her.
    “We do a lot of screwing on objects that aren’t beds,” she murmured when she could talk. “Is that a shifter thing?”
    “You’re blaming me?” He sounded incredulous, but because she couldn’t see his face in the darkness, she had no idea if he was playing around or not. “You’re the one who keeps starting sex when we’re nowhere near a bed.”
    “Me? I do not!”
    “Let’s see… last night, I walked outside and you practically ripped