He groaned, moving up my body.  “I want to feel your naked breasts against my chest when I take you this time.

Without an ounce of resistance, my body in full rut, I let him have me again, our chests rubbing together, his weight heavy on me, in me, my face in his hands, his mouth possessing mine.

I cried when I came.  He kissed my tears away.

It was just too bittersweet, the pleasure and the pain of it, and at my very weakest, when all my defenses were stripped away, there were things even I could not deny.

The brutal, unrelenting truth was all too apparent to me in these moments.

I belonged to him.  I was his.

I’d never stopped being his.

It was a cruel, unbearable, and undeniable fact.

He dragged my pliant, naked body into the adjoining bathroom, drawing a bath and tugging me in to straddle him.

I tried to lay my cheek on his chest, but he gripped my face with both hands and started kissing me.  Not an idle, satisfied kiss, either.  His mouth devoured mine like he hadn’t just had me.  Twice.

His hunger reignited my own, and in spite of myself I was grabbing his neck and kissing him back with equal fervor.

I’d never been able to get enough of him like this, when he was so wildly passionate for me.  Hungry to the point of desperate.

As ever, I answered that hunger in kind.

I don’t need food.  I don’t need air or shelter.  I just need this, my body told me with each fevered throb.

His proximity.  His touch.  His own all-consuming need.  Nothing felt more vital to me.

He held me captive like that for a very long time, with his gentle hands and his desperate kiss, devouring me from the outside in, insinuating his all-encompassing craving into every part of me until I was a mindless slave to it.

Eventually the kissing led to more.  I had my thighs on either side of his hips, and gradually he worked me closer, his hardness pushing insistently between my legs, ramming teasingly, and then harder against my sex, finally entering me, working in slow inch by slow inch, sucking in each needy breath I gasped out as he invaded me, my cunt sucking in each needy thick inch of his cock.

I tried to move on him, to create the friction that would relieve us both, but his hands let go of my face, snaking down to grip my hips and hold me flush and unmoving, keeping still and buried to the hilt.

All the while, his mouth was unstoppable on mine, kissing, licking, sucking, gasping out the words he knew would get to me the most and the fastest.

I was whimpering by the time he let up, his hands on my hips working me against his thick length in small, jarring movements.

“More,” I managed to get out, but barely.  Passion made him vocal, but for me it was the opposite.  I was a blithering mess of in-articulation when I was this far gone.

He rewarded me with a few more hard thrusts then began to pull me off.

I protested, but he shushed me, gave me one last long kiss, then lifted me clean out of the bath and perched me on the lip of it.

Gram had given me one of the best suites in the entire mansion, and the bathroom had a garden tub set in a corner with a scenic window.  He set my back against the glass, leaned down between my thighs, and went to work.

I gripped my fingers into his hair, head falling back, eyes drifting closed.

His mouth, God, his mouth.  It’d been so long.

Pulling me open, his tongue and fingers clamoring inside, he finished me in seconds.

I was still reeling when he rose.  He propped a foot up near my hip, gripped both hands into my hair, and pulled my slack mouth within licking distance of his thick tip.

I started to get it then.  He wanted to do everything, wanted to have me every way before the night was through.

I knew him well enough to know he’d have his way.

Neither of us was going to get a wink of sleep until he’d gone through his hit list, which was mind boggling and extensive.

He carried me back to bed and laid me down.  When he straightened and started to move away, I wondered if I’d been mistaken and he was actually done.

But he was just turning on the lights.

Of course he would.  The intrusive bastard wouldn’t let me hide anything from him.

As he moved about, I admired the view.  Even the fresh scratches I’d left all over his back.  Every inch of him was the benchmark of my personal preference.

I’m so fucked, I thought, my eyes drifting closed.

But the bastard didn’t let me sleep.

He kept me up until the sun was rising and every inch of my body ached.

“I might let you sleep after this round,” he told me, kissing my shoulder.

He was on my back, groin flush against my ass, my legs spread wide, his clenched fists on the mattress on either side of my head.

I was in exquisite, tantalizing distress, my face in the pillow, mouth opened wide in a silent scream as he rutted hard and deep into my sensitive flesh.

His pace increased as he got close, his thrusts getting almost too rough to bear.

He lifted my face from the pillow with a firm hand in my hair, bending down to kiss as close to my mouth as he could reach, and, buried to the hilt, he emptied himself deep.

He stayed inside of me, hips flexing as he rubbed out every last twitch of his orgasm.

“Jesus,” I groaned, as he pulled out of me with excruciating slowness.  It was just too much.

And still he wasn’t done.  He kissed his way down my back, pushed my knees up on the bed, and fitted his head underneath me.

I braced myself on my elbows, moving my hips as he ate me out yet again.

My body was still vibrating with pleasure as he flipped me onto my back and straddled me.