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Shatter with those words that I swore I’d never say springing from my lips.
“Oh, fuck, I need your cock. Give it to me. Give it to me, you fucking bastard. Make me come.”
Through the cloud of ecstasy wracking me, I hear him moan and feel his cock twitch inside me. He’s close. Again.
He grips my thighs and spreads them to extract himself. “I’m going to come,.”
But I’m not done with him.
I lock my ankles behind him.
His eyes go wide, and I by the back of the head, pulling myself until my lips are right next to his, my eyes staring into his.
“I’m not done with your cock yet, Dixon Green. So don’t you dare pull out.”
“But…”
I hit him. It’s not a punch, not a slap, something in between. “Your cock is mine, Dixon. You’ll get it back when I’m done with it.”
Hips writhing, each motion touching somewhere perfect inside me with his cock, I grind into him. Groaning, he tries to hold on, but I don’t give a damn either way. I use his cock for all it’s worth, until it’s twitching, shaking, filling me with his come, all while I ride out every wave of the blissful orgasm flowing through me.
He’s a mess when I’m done.
Smiling, satisfied, I unlock my ankles and let him free.
Then, after a deep breath, I stand and gently slap his cheek.
“Good boy. Now, put your clothes on so we can get the fuck out of here.”
I dress. The fabric clings to my heated skin, a reminder of what just unfolded between Dixon and me. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the imprint he's left on every inch of my body. I glance at him; he's watching me with intensity as he zips up his jeans, his expression unreadable. I'm not sure why the sight of him looking less than smug sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear or loathing and everything to do with something far more dangerous — vulnerability. It's as if, in that moment of raw passion, we've stripped away more than just our clothes.
I stride toward the door with a confidence I don't fully feel, eager to put some distance between us. As I step out into the hallway, I hear him behind me.
“Destiny, wait,” he says, using my assumed name now that we’re out in the open.
“What is it, Bison?”
I turn and come to a rigid stop the moment I see the look on his face. His expression is so utterly alien compared to the smirk that I’m used to, and it fills me with fear. In his eyes, I see the same feelings that I am fighting so hard against.
He opens his mouth. I tense — this is it, the moment where everything changes between us.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dixon
Alexandra turns, looks at me with eyes full of anger, disdain, and an unfamiliar emotion far more threatening than the others. One that I refuse to name and definitely shouldn’t be there, considering we just hate-fucked in the guest bedroom of some two-bit northern California crime boss.
I pause.
I had been planning on telling her she has some of my cum on her cheek and that she should wipe it off before we go back out to the party and head for the exit, but with the look she’s giving me, I re-think it. If someone points it out to her while we’re surrounded by the crowd and she gets embarrassed, she damn well deserves it for thinking that what happened between us — even if it resulted in a couple of orgasms that still have my head ringing — is anything more than doing what we have to do to get out of this place alive.
“What happened back there between us…” I pause for effect, let her eyes widen, let her cheeks color, and I lean in to give the impression that I’m planning on saying something deep. “I’ve had better. I give you a four out of ten, and that’s being generous.”
“And I’ve had bigger. I’m not calling you ‘Bison’ anymore. I’m just going to call you ‘Lil’ Lars. Even that’s being generous, though. It’s just that ‘Lil’ rolls off the tongue so much easier than ‘Micro.’”
My mouth clicks shut.
