“And you’re killing me,” I pant out, laughing breathlessly and reaching up to drag both hands through my hair. Oliver’s fingers press into me so expertly that if I were an instrument, they’d call him a savant.

“But I guess I asked for it, didn’t I?” He practically massages my prostate and the relentless pleasure makes my spine arch, eyes rolling back in my hand as I slap my hands down onto the bed. “Ohh, fuck.”

My spine feels molten and I cry out loudly, lifting my head to give him a desperately needy look, almost pouting at him. “I want you inside me when I come, pesca.”