When Scott Miller fucks you, he makes you take everything he gives you.
Your knees are already starting to shake, but Scott’s got you held up like it’s nothing—like your weight doesn’t even register to him. He’s still buried to the hilt, one big hand wrapped around your middle like he owns you.
He groans as his fingers slide down to your lower stomach. He presses his palm flat against your skin, right over the bulge that’s clearly him, moving under the surface with every deep, brutal thrust. “You feel that? That’s me.”
You moan breathlessly, and your hand flies to cover his, but he just chuckles and pushes down harder, making you gasp.
He rocks his hips again, slower this time, like he’s enjoying watching himself move from the outside. The pressure of his hand on your stomach only amplifies it—makes it impossible to forget just how deep he’s inside you.
“Didn’t know I’d fuck you dumb that fast,” he teases, gripping your chin and turning your head just enough to see the haze in your eyes.
He thrusts suddenly, hard, and you swear you feel it hit that same spot under his palm. He grins wide and wicked as he chews that gum he just has to have in his mouth.
You hit your peak with a cry, legs trembling and body twitching as the waves crash through you. You’re clenching so tight around him that Scott lets out a deep, guttural groan but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.
“Uh uh,” he says, voice low and rough. “Give me another one. I know you got it in you.”
You whimper, still twitching under him, but he grabs your hips and pulls you back harder against him. His pace is sharp now—driving, determined.
He knows you’re struggling to keep up, but he eats that up.
