Ross answered with a snarl and flipped her.
One second she was on her back, the next her face was pressed into the mattress, ass in the air, spine arched so sharply her tits barely brushed the sheets.
Ross gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and drove back in, deeper from this angle, punishing.
The new position made her feel him in her throat.
She shrieked into the pillow, muffled and raw, fingers scrabbling for something to hold onto as he set a pace that should have been illegal.
Her second orgasm hit like a freight train.
She squirted again, harder this time, a violent gush that soaked his thighs and splattered the sheets in messy arcs.
Ross just smiled, dark and filthy, and kept going, pounding through the spasms, forcing her body to take more even while she shook apart.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't slow.
He used her exactly the way she'd begged him to: like a toy built for his pleasure, like a prize he'd earned twice over tonight.
