Chapter 8: Positions and Power

His hips drove forward again, mid-thrust, stretching me open around the thick, messy heat of our first release while the second forced orgasm still shuddered through me in long, helpless waves. I was still crying, still whispering fractured little “stops” between gasps, but my legs had fallen wider on their own, heels digging into the thin mattress like my body had already surrendered even if my mind hadn’t caught up. The mosquito net swayed lazily overhead, the faint breeze from the fan brushing my sweat-slick skin. The ocean roared outside, steady and indifferent, as if nothing inside this bungalow had shattered.

Javier groaned low against my ear, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. “That’s it ... feel how full you are already, cariño.” He didn’t pull out. Instead his hands slid under me, palms hot and calloused, gripping my hips with bruising strength. In one effortless motion he flipped me onto my stomach, yanking my ass up until I was on my knees, face shoved into the thin pillow that smelled of salt, sweat, and the faint coconut of my own lotion from earlier that day. My cheek pressed into the damp fabric, muffling the broken sob that tore out of me as cool night air kissed the exposed curve of my ass and the slick, puffy lips of my pussy.

“No—please, not like this,” I whimpered, trying to crawl forward, fingers clawing at the sheets. He simply followed, knees spreading mine wider, one big hand fisting my hair at the roots and pulling my head back sharply so my back arched hard. My soft C-cups swung heavy beneath me, nipples scraping the mattress with every ragged breath. I felt so exposed—cheeks spread by his thumbs, my dripping folds and the tight little ring above them on full display in the dim lantern light. His cock nudged my entrance again, still rock-hard and glistening with our combined mess, and then he drove in deep in one smooth, claiming stroke.

The new angle punched the air from my lungs. He hit so much deeper this way, the thick head dragging along that sensitive front wall and nudging right against my cervix with every thrust. I screamed into the pillow, the sound raw and muffled, but my hips—traitors that they were—pushed back to meet him, ass jiggling softly with the impact. “I don’t want this,” I sobbed, voice cracking, even as fresh wetness flooded around his shaft and trickled down my thighs. He laughed softly, the sound dark and possessive, and wrapped one hand around my throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make stars spark at the edges of my vision without cutting off my air.