Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Because I’m hearing the ringing over the line, and also an
echo of it coming from somewhere inside my house.
I’m not even on my feet before he crashes through my
bedroom door and grabs me.
We fall onto the bed, kissing madly.
He’s as frantic as I am, devouring my mouth and squeezing
me everywhere, his hands rough and greedy. I pull his hair and
wrap my legs around his waist. He gives me his weight,
pinning me to the mattress, groaning into my mouth.
I’m on fire. Euphoric. Intoxicated with relief, lust, and the
sheer pleasure of him, his huge, hard body and warm, spicy
smell. His taste. The little sounds he makes. His ravenous need
for me, the way he so obviously can’t get enough.
I’m wearing a nightshirt. He rips it off.
My lace panties are torn in half and discarded.
He drags me to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees,
shoves my legs open, and eats me like a starving man, making
desperate noises low in his throat.
Sighing in relief, I sink my hands into his thick hair and
rock my hips against his face.
He slaps my thigh. I moan my approval. He pinches the
stinging flesh, then slaps it again, harder. The rocking of my
hips turns frenzied. Arching my back, I call out his name.
He abruptly rolls me to my belly, flattens a hand over the
middle of my back, and starts to spank my ass.
Spewing an unintelligible stream of Russian, he spanks me
until my ass is burning, my pussy is throbbing, and I’m
frantically grinding my hips against the bed.
When I’m at the edge of climax, he flips me to my back,
pulls me up to a sitting position, yanks down the zipper on his
jeans, fists his erection in his hand, and takes me by the throat.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
I wrap both my hands around his shaft and moisten my
lips.