Chapter 11: What the Body Knows

His belt came open under her hands.

She pushed his trousers down his hips and his cock sprang free, thick and hard and already wet at the tip.

Vincent let his head fall back on the cushion.

"Maura."

"Don't you move."

She wrapped her fist around him and stroked once, slowly, from the base to the head, and watched his stomach jump.

He swore under his breath.

She bent and took him in her mouth.

He tasted of salt and heat.

She sucked him deep, until the head of his cock touched the back of her throat.

His good hand clenched in the sheet.

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, Maura, you're going to..."

She pulled off him with a wet sound.

"Not yet."

She climbed up over him on her knees, careful of the strap across his chest, and lined him up.

Her pussy was slick and swollen and aching.

She sank down on his cock in one long slide, all of him at once, and they both groaned.

He filled her completely.

She stayed there, with him buried to the base, trembling, her palms flat on his chest.

His eyes were black.

"Look at me," he said.

"No."

"Look at me, mia moglie."

She looked.

He stared up at her without blinking.

Her throat closed.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know. Ride me."

She did.

She lifted herself and dropped, and the slap of her thighs against him filled the room.

He met every stroke with a thrust of his hips, deep and hard.

His cock dragged against the place inside her that made her see white.

"Harder," she said.

"Like this?"

"Harder, you son of a bitch."

He drove up into her, hard enough to rock the couch.

She braced against his shoulders and took it, and every thrust hit her somewhere new.

She was wet, so wet, and the sound of it was obscene.

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