That wasn’t my ass.

It was his.

I was his.

And I loved being his.

I rode harder.

“Christ,” his fingers dug in, “Fuck yeah. Ride me, Hattie.”

I rode. I soared. I came and did it hard, crying out, catching him at his neck, grinding down.

I didn’t stay down.

I lost him when he pulled me off, planted me on my knees, positioned behind me, shoved a hand in my back so I arched for him and both my hands were forced to brace against the wall, and he pistoned back in.

Oh my God.

Amazing.

“Axl,” I gasped.

He wrapped an arm across my chest, fingers at the side of the base of my neck, holding me steady as he drilled me.

Oh my…

God.

“Axl,” I whimpered, and like a shot, came again.

He squeezed my breast as I swayed my hips to meet his thrusts, reeling from my orgasm.

His hand went down over my belly and in between my legs to cup us as he fucked me.

“Best goddamn tits, juiciest fucking pussy,” he growled into my neck.

Oh God.

Could I come again?

Even if I wasn’t quite done with the last one?

I was almost there.

“Baby,” I moaned.

He pinched my clit.

I whinnied as I exploded.

He purred, then grunted, then shoved his face in my neck before his head jerked back.

He drove up and groaned, deep and rumbly.

Best sound ever.

Ever.

Honestly, I liked his orgasms even better than mine.

No joke.

He sat back on his calves, taking me with him, so I sat on his dick.

And his hands went back to my breasts.

It was not lost on me he was a tit man.

And since I was ultra-sensitive there, it also wasn’t lost on me this was (high) on the long-and-getting-longer list of how we were compatible.

“Seriously,” he murmured into my neck, giving gentle, kneading squeezes that were way better than a post-fuck cuddle. “Best tits ever, baby. Beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I wheezed.

I was pretty sure I felt him smile.

“And sweet, juicy pussy,” he continued. “So goddamn wet, you’re all over my thighs.”

I shivered.

“Even when I’m fuckin’ you, my mouth is watering with the need to eat you.”

Another shiver.

“I can’t touch you, honey,” I voiced my complaint.

“No,” he agreed, and didn’t move.

Oh my.

Yes, I was his.

I loved that.

One hand left a breast, moved over my belly, which normally, I didn’t like. It wasn’t concave or even flat, and I’d always been conscious of it.

But he palmed it with the same reverence he gave my breast and any notion of embarrassment or discomfort that might have formed vanished in an instant.