He growls and bites the back of my shoulder. Hard. All of the softness and subtle teasing has gone. He pulls my head in his direction and covers my lips with his. No, he's not simply covering it up—a it's coup, a violent takeover, and the only thing I can do is submit. He tears the bow around my neck and flips me around, forcing the dress down my hips and onto the floor. It hurts a lot when he tugs on my n*****s now, but I arch my chest into his hands, pleading for more. Nothing can put out the heat that's burning down my spine. Not the rigid length between his legs, which is pushing against my desperate, pulsating core.
I had to touch him, so I begin with his shirt buttons. Machel slips the shirt over his head before I even get the second open. He seems to be fearless. Hungry and hungry
