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“Dorian--- please!" Her voice trembled, her muscles clenched around his shaft. "I'm sorry," he gasped as a new blaze ignited on the embers of his previous climax. She would hate him. He already hated himself. But she felt so good, and he'd waited so long. "I'm sorry but I--- I can't stop." "No," she gritted out, her voice low and guttural. "Please--- faster." He fucked her then. One hand bracing her hip, the other grasping the hair at her scalp, imprisoning her head and exposing her throat as he piston into her tight body again and again. Little pants of demand escaped her. Tight whimpers of pain or pleasure. Then she bucked against him, a reedy cry becoming a shrill one. She twisted and writhed, pulled and arched as her intimate muscles drew another soul-shattering climax from him. He could feel his seed leaving him and pouring into her. He sank deep enough to touch her womb with his own flesh.” — Kerrigan Byrne