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“That’s not what I mean, Alexandra.”
“Then what do you mean, asshole?” I say, my voice sounding more like a plaintive moan than I’d like, but then, it’s understandable, considering I’m on the edge of what feels like a great orgasm, yet it’s slipping through my fingers like fine-grained sand every passing second that Dixon spends dicking around.
“I don’t want to feel you come against my tongue; I want to feel you come on my cock.”
“Are you hard again?” I swivel my hips, feel his cock pulse against my opening, and my eyes go wide. “Damn, you are.”
“I am, princess.” He shifts his grip, holding both my hands above my head with only one of his. With the other, he takes hold of his cock and brushes the hard head of it against my clit, sending ecstatic electricity pulsing through me. I gasp again. “I want to look down on you while your eyes roll back in your head and your orgasm tears you to pieces.”
He uses his cock to tease my clit again. It is torturous bliss.
“I fucking hate you so much right now.”
“You might hate me, but you want me to fuck you.”
The words sit on my lips, hesitant. I want it, desperately, but do I want the satisfaction that much that I’m willing to give it to him?
Finally, I nod.
He thrusts, just a little, gentle, and I moan. Deep from a part in my chest so low that it might never have existed before this moment. “Oh, fuck me.”
“That’s the point, princess.”
With a smirk that sets my nerves alight, Dixon plunges into me.
I cry out, a tangle of curses and his name, as he fills me completely. His movements are deliberate, powerful—a rhythm that has my body singing with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
He leans down, his lips brushing against mine.
"We both know that this is what you wanted," he whispers.
I can only nod, every fiber of my being focused on the sensations he's coaxing from deep within me. The friction builds, a crescendo of need that tightens my whole body until I'm nothing but a quivering mass under his control.
"Fucking Dixon," I gasp between moans. It's a curse and an endearment all at once and he knows it.
Our eyes lock, and something shifts between us.
The sharp edges of our rivalry soften just enough to let something more dangerous — something like genuine emotion — shine in the depths of his gaze.
"Say it," he commands. His free hand slides up to cup my cheek, thumb sweeping across my bottom lip, while he fucks me so deeply it feels like my world is breaking apart.
I shake my head defiantly, but my resolve is crumbling. "Say what?"
"That you're mine," he growls. “That, right now, princess, you’re mine, and it’s my cock that’s giving you exactly what you need.”
I spit at him. It hits him square on the cheek and he laughs and then thrusts deep into me, deep enough my world breaks and the only thing keeping me anchored are my fingernails, with which I dig deep furrows into his back.
“Say it, princess.”
“Fuck you.”
“As you wish,” he growls. Another thrust, at a different angle.
I gasp, a vibration begins low in my center, grows, along with a sense of tension like I’m nothing more than a guitar string that’s being tightened and tightened until it’s going to snap into the most beautiful music.
Then another thrust. And another. Deep, hard, with every ounce of hate and unspoken lust that’s existed between us since the moment we met.
I shatter.
