Sex Scene Championship Part 2 Round 16 : Cari Silverwood ( @carisilverwood) vs Anais Morgan (@erikalindsen)

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We have 50 eBooks to giveaway (some of which are listed on the Intro post here), 2 signed paperbacks, 2 INT paperbacks, 4 Gift Cards (Amazon & All Romance, a necklace, some pens and more swag to give away.

So for our next round we have Cari Silverwood and Anais Morgan

Execerpt One –

Cari Silverwood – Intimidator ©

She straightened, turned. Crap. She shouldn’t have looked.

Stom stood there, disheveled and wild-eyed, dark gray shirt sticking to his muscles. His zip was undone and his pants ready to be pushed down his legs. Casually, he pulled his shirt off over his head. Her mouth dried.

She ran her tongue across her lip, assessing him. “Christ, you’re hot. Man…”

Now was the time to say that no.

“Did I tell you to move?”

Unable to blink, in case she missed something, she stiffly shook her head.

“Good. I wanted an excuse.” He bared his teeth. As if by magic, his hand held what looked a leash and collar. Feral had taken over.

The stripes on his face, neck, and chest stood out like warning signs, sheened with sweat.

She’d forgotten how strong a man could be, and Stom was more than a man.

Without warning, he spun her again, leaning on her to trap her against the coarse bark while he strapped the collar about her neck. She squeaked once then subsided and let him handle her as he wished to. This, this thing he did with the making her do things, the abruptness of him grabbing and taking, it blew her mind. Fuck equality. Fuck asking before he did it. With him, she wanted this – wildness, compulsion, animal ferocity.

Once on, the collar seemed to pulse at her neck. The thing circled her, ran tingles down into her body, calmed her even, as if it were more than plain leather. A haze settled in.

“Wait,” she mumbled. “I never said I wanted this on.”

“Quiet. This is not your want. It’s mine.” The leash clicked on and he secured it on a low branch. He slapped her ass. “Mine.”

The reverberations of the slap echoed deep.

Mine. The word had a double meaning. His idea to leash her. His possession. She grew wetter in an instant.

Rough yet businesslike, he kneeled and pulled her shorts all the way down her legs until they bunched above her sneakers. He was going to fuck her after all.

Any normal woman would stop him.

And yet she moved not at all. Maybe she wasn’t normal.

His naked hands clasped her hips. Skin contact. Things were about to happen. He was going to put his cock in her. Damn. She sucked in air.

“Arch your back. Let me see your pussy.”

He wanted her to stick her butt out. She’d not had sex for a year. But Stom…damn. Slowly, she did as he’d asked and even tried to part her thighs, despite the shorts constricting her ankles.

Gently, almost reverently, he touched her down there, then with his other hand he angled her outward and made her push her ass higher.

From the slick and smooth way his finger travelled along her cleft, she was very wet. She heard the intake of his breath. He liked her like this. Moist for him. The pleasure of that warmed her.

“This is your cunt, Willow? It’s my cunt now. Hear that?” As he spoke, he slowly circled the inner edge of her pussy with one finger, teasing her with desire.

She quivered. His dirty talk hit every take me button inside her head. She held back for only a fraction of a second before she nodded. Wiggling her butt seemed an excellent idea, and she pushed back onto his fingers. When he resisted impaling her, she whined and bit her lip.
Lip still caught in her teeth, she lowered her forehead to the bark. The sound of his pants being pulled off warned her. She shifted her legs even farther apart, sure he must be looking at her there. Her entrance clenched. Ugh. Slow man. If she didn’t get him inside her, she’d implode from lust overload, and how would that look on her death certificate?

Then his cock breached her and shoved apart the entrance to her pussy. He speared inside her: that exquisite instant of impalement, fullness. She forgot everything but that, mesmerized by the building rhythm of sex. Stom was taking her, inside her, his body slapping against her ass. Yes.

He must have loosened the leash. His hand was behind her nape gathering it in his fist.

“Look at me.” He turned her to face him and touched foreheads, with his hand wedged around her chin. Between collar, leash, hand, and his cock pumping at her, he totally controlled her. She couldn’t move a fraction, open her mouth, or tongue her lip, without him seeing her arousal. He observed her every pant and whimper, kissing her mouth while he fucked her.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

And she did – she opened her eyes wider. Captured. Bound in the storm of his need. Her air was his. She was his.

He inched her up the tree until her toes barely touched earth. The slow rhythm of his thrusts strengthened – faster, harder, deeper inside, making her dig fingernails into the bark. He engulfed her in passion. Her thighs shook. Ecstasy was but a moment, a cry, a helpless whimper away.

The room fell silent and Betty wondered if she should say something. Deacon didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her presence. When her ears were going to burst from the silence, Betty said, “Mr. Wictred, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

At her final word he tossed down the tablet, stood, and stalked over to her. She backed up as fear consumed her. His gaze was intent on her, his eyes staring into her soul. Her back pressed against the door and she felt trapped.

Deacon slammed a hand on the door next to her head. She winced, wondering if she’d said something to make him upset. Betty closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe taking this job was a mistake.

Deacon pressed his nose to her throat and inhaled, his nose traveling from the front of her neck to the side. Even though she was shaking, Betty couldn’t ignore how good he smelled, his musk and cologne drifting over her. The moisture between her legs grew as his tongue licked at the hollow of her throat.

Before she could register what he was doing, he reached between them, slid his hand up her skirt, and ripped her panties away. She gasped as he unbuckled his pants, revealing his swollen cock. Her mouth went dry, but she couldn’t think. She didn’t know what to say or how to protest. Deacon gripped her ass, lifted her onto his cock, and entered her.

She cried out at the strength he used as he pushed into her. Normally, the guy gave her a moment to adjust before he started moving, but not Deacon. He started fucking her hard and fast.

Betty’s hands wrapped into his hair as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into her. The force had his balls hitting her ass. He grunted against her ear and she bit her lip. He filled her, every cell, his massive dick touching her in every way. She bucked her hips against his as he fucked her up the door. No words were exchanged except for his grunting.

“Mr. Wictred, we have guests,” Elena’s voice came over the intercom on his desk.

Deacon didn’t seem to notice. He pushed deeper, harder, so hard that Betty’s vision became white. Her breasts pushed to his chest as he thrust into her. Her climax was building and fast, much quicker than it had ever in her life.

“Mr. Wictred, please step away from the door,” Elena said again.

Betty tried to focus on how Elena sounded bored, like this was a regular occurrence, but the things Deacon did with his hips had her crying out. The first wave of an orgasm took over and she screamed as he reached down and rubbed her clit. All Betty could hear was her loud voice, her begging for him to never stop, and his harsh breathing.

A knock on the door behind her. “Mr. Wictred, please back away from the door while you have sex.” Elena’s voice was now irritated.

Deacon swore before gripping Betty’s ass and carrying her off to the couch. He threw her down and loosened his tie. “On your knees.”