Reb'l Fleur

“He murmurs, low and hungry, "I really want to ruin you."
Eden bites her lip. She can barely breathe as she rasps, "Then what are you waiting for?"
He hums, content, as he reaches behind her to help lift her bralette up and over her head. Alexander grabs at her small breasts, easily covering her with his massive hands. She shivers, both amused and aroused at how small and protected he makes her feel.
He leaves a line of kisses from her breasts down her stomach, marking her as he works his way down to her jeans. It's a wonder to watch his skilled fingers undo the front of her pants before tugging them off with great haste. All that remains is her matching white lace thong, one that leaves little to the imagination.
Alexander growls. "You're really going to kill me, you know that?"
"Sorry," she replies, breathless.
"Don't be," he mumbles, moving in to lick at her mound through the fabric.
Pleasure spears through her in a massive shock wave, the warmth of his tongue seeping through the lace. The throbbing wetness between her legs grows more and more unbearable with every second. But Alexander takes his time, mouthing at her through her thong with slow and controlled determination.
It's torturous.
It's heaven.
"Take it off," she commands, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice. "Take it---"
"Be patient."
Eden whines. "But I want---"
"I know."
"Please---"
"I told you. I want to ruin you."
Eden moans, lightheaded and babbling nonsense. It's enough to make her toes curl. She's sure she sounds pathetic, panting and mewling like she's in heat.”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love

“Fuck," he whimpered, mouth at my ear. "You feel--- so --- fucking good." His hips were already picking up speed, his body pistoning into mine so insistently, so needfully, it obliterated all self-doubt. He grabbed both of my hands in one of his, pinning them above my head, and stared transfixed at the way my breasts bounced with his movements. The way he was looking at me--- and the way it felt, my cunt clenching around him as he thrust into me again, and again, and again---
His hands dropped down to grip my ass, lifting my hips and changing the angle of our connection. Something about the new positioning opened me up to him even further, allowed him to go deeper, harder, to brush up against parts of me no one had touched before.
"Reggie," I gasped. "Oh, fuck." Something... something was different. I cried out again, helpless in the face of this delicious mounting pleasure, an ecstatic sort of pressure at the base of my spine that was threatening to pull me under. I felt drunk, wild, and burning hot, my body already racing towards another sharp crescendo as my hips sped up to match his movements.
Without thinking, I flung my head back onto the pillow, the angle leaving my neck completely exposed.
His hips stuttered to a stop, even as he remained fully seated inside me.
He growled.”
― Jenna Levine, My Vampire Plus-One

“I want to move." Delicately shaking, slickly sweating, I strain against Macon's bulk. It's no use; he has me pinned to the chair, his cock thick and pulsing deep inside. And not fucking moving.
He grins down at me, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his flushed face. "Not yet."
Slowly, too damn slowly, he circles his hips, stretching me, making me ache.
"I need to come," I whisper. Whine. Plead. It's all the same. Every inch of me throbs. Pleasure is a tightly drawn bow within, and I need that snap of release.
His grin fades, replaced by intention. "You will. When I'm ready."
"Sadist."
He nips my earlobe. "You love it."
I shudder as that glorious dick of his eases out, making me feel every hard inch, only to slowly push back in. Too fucking slowly. I'm writhing on him, and he loves it. Dark eyes glint as he works me.
Naked in the sun and sprawled on an armchair that barely holds us, he's been fucking me with a steady deliberation designed to drive me out of my mind. And though I'm a pleading, panting mess, I love it too.
God, he's gorgeous. Endless muscle and tan skin beaded with sweat, flush from exertion. His expression is slack, hazy with lust. It sends licks of pleasure along my skin. Panting, I reach up and touch his jaw, trying to draw him near. He complies, dipping his head. Our mouths meet in a lazy, deep kiss, an exchange of air, messy exploration of lips and tongues.
He groans, shivering. Not unaffected. Just so very good at torturing me.
In. Out. Pull. Push.
"Macon," I whisper into his mouth. "Please. Fuck me."
He freezes, and then with another groan, all that power and need breaks free. I can only hold on as he goes hard and deep. The chair scrapes along the floor as he pounds into me. Every thrust impacts my swollen, sensitive sex. Pleasure builds and builds until I'm keening, my eyes closed as though I can somehow hang on to the feeling forever. But it breaks over me in a shimmering wave.
Macon's teeth clamp down on the meaty curve of my neck, not hard but holding me there as his thrusts turn rapid, a greedy chase of his own pleasure. It's so animalistic and unexpected that another orgasm slams into me with unexpected power.
I lose track of myself, of him. My fingers claw at his back, thread through his hair. I'm struggling to get closer, get more. He comes with a great shout, his big strong body straining against mine.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“I’ll bury myself so deep inside her, she’ll have no choice but to accept it. Me.”
― S. Massery, Secret Obsession