Ella

I cry out Ryatt’s name as he thrust in from behind. He grips my hips, adjusting me so I’m where he wants me, and begins to absolutely lay waste to my body.

It’s like every piece of me–every cell, every nerve–is honing in on his movements. He lowers himself over my back after a moment, pressing me into the mattress with one of his hands pinning my wrists above my head.

He kisses the base of my neck, then bites down, holding me there.

For whatever reason ...