He works his cock with one hand, and my clit with the other. Squirming against him, I whimper, shutting my eyes while my juices drip from my cunt.
“Fuck me, Micah,” I desperately beg. “Please, fuck me.”
With one, hard stroke he enters me, the table shaking back and forth with each savage thrust. He grips my hips, slamming into me relentlessly. Again. Again. And again. Breathing hard. Groaning. Biting out curses. Burying his fingertips into my thighs, bruising my skin.
“Yes,” I cry out, writhing on the cold, hard surface of the table.
He strokes my inner walls, hitting just the right spot.
“Yes,” I encourage. “Right there.”
“Fuck,” he groans, sinking into me over and over.
“Don’t stop,” I urge, my mouth popping open. “Yes. God, yes!”
“That’s it, baby,” he praises. “Fucking take it. Take this cock like a good girl.”
My legs begin to quiver. “Harder,” I beg.
His pace slows, and he slams into me hard. Thrust after thrust, he uses force.
“Like this, baby?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Do you deserve to come?”
“Please. Yes. Please, Micah.”
My orgasm rapidly builds. The moment he presses his thumb over my clit, I nearly come undone. Rubbing my clit in slow, torturous circles, he instantly throws me over the edge. My climax rips through my body, consuming me, while I ride out wave after wave of everlasting euphoria.
Curling my hands into fists at my sides, Micah continues his beautiful, yet merciless attack on my body. My inner walls spasm around his cock, as he stretches me wide, slamming into me with an urgency. Again, and again, jolting me back with each stroke.
“Fuck,” he snarls behind his mask, eyes narrowed. “Good.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Girl.”
My eyes roll into the back of my head.
“Yes, yes,” I pant, while he firmly grips my waist, granting himself every ounce of control.
“Again,” he orders, plunging deeper. “Now, Quinn. I’m not going to last much longer.” He groans, lifting my leg between thrusts, and resting my ankle over his shoulder. “Come for me again, baby.”
Another wave of my orgasm claims me, right on cue. It’s almost too much for me to handle. The pleasure so intense, it’s actually painful.
“That’s it,” he encourages, breathing hard. “Milk me dry, Quinn. Oh, fuck.”
Throwing back his head, he finds his release with one final thrust.
“What’s the matter?” Damien asks me.
Staring at the bare branches of our Christmas tree, I sigh. “Nothing,” I reply, forcing a grin.
Jensen wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer to him on the couch. “Don’t lie.”
“I guess I’m used to it being lit up.”
Micah enters the room, carrying a box. “You really thought we forgot.”
“Lights!” Kneeling beside Micah, I impatiently wait for him to cut it open. “Do you guys have any ornaments?”
He shrugs.
“Basement,” Damien answers.
“We have any more wood?” Jensen asks, poking at the flames in the fireplace with the iron pointer. “Wood that isn’t wet?”
“Quinn,” Damien sarcastically accuses.