" Little by little, the discomfort gave way to the aching pleasure from before. She canted her hips, caught as she was between the steel of his manhood and the skill of his fingers. The pulsing ache had returned, greedy and demanding more. Except this time he was there, filling her completely, creating a new wave of intoxicating pleasure with her every movement as he nudged against a sensitive place deep inside her.
"Yes, that's it." His voice was serrated with desire. "Fuck me."
A cry tore from her lips, and she tilted her hips again, pushing back. He answered her silent plea by thrusting into her at the same time. A spark of white-hot light shot across her vision. Then he did it again, and again, moving in a controlled rhythm that matched the stroking of his hand. He attacked her with pleasure from both sides. All too soon she was trembling, her breath coming erratically as she cried out into the blankets as wave after wave of gratification broke over her.
Only then did he falter in his pace. He fell over her, holding himself off her with one hand while grabbing a handful of her hair with the other. He pulled her head back and took her mouth in a kiss, his hips losing their rhythm too become erratic and fitful. "

― Harper St. George , The Devil and the Heiress (The Gilded Age Heiresses, #2)