Penelope’s POV:

I can’t tell where I start and where Vincent stops. Nor can I tell how long it’s been. Thirty minutes? An hour? Two?

My limbs had long since given up. I was being held up by Vincent’s iron grip on my hips, holding me in a perfect position as his cock continued to jackhammer inside of me.

The sounds in the air are downright profane. I’ve climaxed over and over again that his thrusts inside of me are so swift and effortless.

Broken cures and squeals spill from my lips, muffled by my face on the sheets. Sheets that are soaked with my tears and drool and maybe...