#tw.penetration

He is the type of man to growl, straight up snarl during sex.

He starts off with some panting and there’s an airy growl at the end of those breaths; like a dog trying to catch it’s toy. A predator trying to catch it’s prey.

Limp legs hitched up over his shoulders, small hands pressed up against his broad chest as he takes you. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, fingernails carving themselves into the skin from his iron tight grip. Every deep thrust has him snuggly pressed up against your core, groaning to himself when he feels the way your cunt blossoms around him, the way your arousal drips down his cock. Down his girthy base, tracing the curve of his heavy balls. He’ll angle himself so every single thrust would make your walls clamp, watching you twitch and squirm as the head of his cock kisses your cervix, threatening to spill with each twitch. You’ll wince with embarrassment every time your hear the wet smack!smack!smack! of skin against skin. How crude.

The lewd squelching only encourages him. He likes to get messy.

Likes to watch the way your toes would curl, back arching off the mattress and into his body. He’d hold you in place so you’re forced to take him but still keep you pressed so close to his body, face buried in the curve between your neck and shoulder. He’ll press some sloppy kisses after minutes of suckling, dragging the tip of his canines against the bruised skin before lifting up his head to study your expression. His thrusts slowing as he admires the way you look at him, darkened eyes looking at him with lust.

He’ll bury his fingers in your hair and grab a tight fistful, tilting your head back gently by the scalp, exposing your body to him. The arm around your waist loosening it’s grip to wrap itself around your neck; fingers pressing down on the sides. You’d cry out and hiccup a few words and he’ll taunt you, telling you to speak, use your words. “C’mon, girl, speak.” He’ll goad and watch as your lips part, listening to the way your words die out and turn into pleasured gasps.

He’ll scan your face for any sign of discomfort and start grinding against you when he recognizes the blissed out glaze in your eyes, pressing his cheek against yours to feel them burn. Feeling the way you give into the lack of oxygen, watching you get high off the feeling.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel intoxicated, if your brain didn’t feel like complete mush, if your tongue didn’t feel so heavy, it was practically making you drool.

He’ll release the suffocating hold on your neck but keep his sore grip on you, burying your body into his as he leans in close to tug at your earlobe. His hips slam down into yours, the hairs just above his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit. You’ll clench around his girth, ripping out a throaty snarl from him. You whimper in response, suddenly registering how big Miguel was. How he’s practically gracing you by not manhandling you into any position he could mount you in.

That only pushes you closer to the edge.

You crane your neck down to look at where the two of you connect. And you’d watch as he drove himself home in your pussy; your poor clit would throb for the attention of something more.

He’ll move so his hand is now pushing your left leg up against your chest, letting the right one hang loosely off his shoulder. His free hand finding it’s way to your sex, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your throbbing clit before resorting to lazy circles.

There’s pressure in your abdomen, pulling, asking you to give in, making you feel hot. Your body falls back into itself and you squeal, your hands pressing at his chest to push him off. And it’s really no use because the man doesn’t budge from weak shoves like that. Now you’re cumming all over him. Like, did you even try?

He’ll lean in close, press his forehead against yours, breathe in your scent as it pours out of you. He’ll nuzzle his nose against yours then bury himself deep in your neck once more. “You wanted this. You’ll take it.” His thrusts grow punctuated, hard and deep. He’s letting out low growls against your neck until you’re clinging against his body, crying out for him as you cum once again, coating his cock until he’s completely covered in your froth.

He’s burying himself to the hilt, balls tightening when he bottoms out once more. Making you feel the intensity of his throbs while he empties a thick load into you.

The air smells of him, him, him. His musk, his cologne, his aftershave. Like sandalwood. And it’s so soothing your body would start yearning for him, wanting more of him, wanting him to soothe the sweet pain in your core. Your walls would flutter so beautifully around the thick base of his cock once more. “That’s it,” he’ll breathe, coaxing you through your orgasm. His fingers letting loose of your hair as he starts petting you, walking you through it, sweet talking you like he wasn’t just trying to build himself a home inside your pussy. “Atta girl,” You’ll rip from him, listening to the way his chest rumbles as he plugs you full of him.

He’ll let out another deep groan from the back of his throat, his jaw clenched, fucking his cum into you. And relish in the way your insides try to push him out along with the rest of his cum, his lips twitching as he thinks about the way you look so fucked out beneath him.

It’s like this every time he comes home — Not knowing if each time will be the last he gets to see you.