“Fanculo,” Junior mutters, pounding harder, sweat beading at his hairline.
True to his promise, he f***s hard. Each thrust rams deeper. If he didn’t keep yanking me back, my head would smash into the headboard.
His hand flashes out and slaps my right breast.
I squeal in offended surprise, but he squeezes it, leans over and flicks his tongue over my n****e, all the while riding me like we’re in a horse race.
“Junior,” I gasp.
The strain of holding back shows on his face, but he still manages to c**k a brow. “You feeling good and sorry?”
I let out a hysterical laugh. “So sorry. So damn sorry. Please, Junior.”
Instead of bringing us to a finish, he pulls out.
“No!” I protest.
He rolls me to my belly. “Spread, baby.”
I spread my legs. He grips the back of my neck, like he’s holding m
