Page 102 of Stealing Blinds

The part of me that longs to make him work for everything has the urge to pretend I don’t know what he’s after, to ignore the dominant insistence of me begging, which is simply a disguise for the beauty of him waiting for consent. But I’m too greedy this morning. Maybe I knew I would be last night when I crawled beneath the covers before ever finding the will to get dressed.

So, I give the man what he wants—with my own personal finesse.

“You’re asking the wrong question, pretty boy.” I shove my ass into his steel-hard length. “What you should really be wondering is if you have what it takes to wake me up properly.”

“Is that so?” He chuckles, and the smile bleeds into my skin. “A challenge, Sly?”

“Whatever will motivate you to stop screwing around and fuck me,” I quip.

His finger rims my opening, collecting the evidence of that greed I mentioned. He lewdly sucks my arousal off him, next to my ear to emphasize his point. “You talk a big game for someone leaking all over my thighs.”

I grunt and wiggle my hips against his erection, too impatient to hold out for the verbal-sparring victory. “Please tell me we’re not going to spend our morning arguing about who needs who more.”

“That sounds like begging to me,” he grits out with such husky desire that I’m inclined to agree. Especially when he thrusts inside me with a fervor that steals my breath.

The air in my lungs punches out with a delighted moan, my entire body jolting from the welcome intrusion.

In one fluid motion, he slinks the arm beneath my head around to drape from shoulder to shoulder across my front and uses the other hand to swirl my clit. “That’s the greeting I was talking about, from your sassy mouth and your pretty pussy.”

I don’t even bother volleying a wise-ass remark. He can have this one. A sheen of sweat blankets me. His piercings etch my inner walls, causing a quiver to rocket through my bones. I feel him everywhere—in my muscles and nerve endings, my veins and soul.

A string of expletives pours from my lungs, and the room blurs to triumph and gold.

He pumps with ardent hunger, muttering his own curses before he rasps, “I need to see your face, to watch you fall apart.”

I should resist because it’s morning and I probably have sleep in my eyes and less-than-stellar breath, but I’m so enchanted by the request that I simply nod.

While keeping himself lodged inside me, he rolls me onto my back, puts space between our upper halves, lifts my leg, and readjusts us in a scissor position. It has his knee resting near my chest and his thigh massaging my clit with the most euphoric tempo.

His thrusts never wane in their vehemence, but his hand finds my cheek, his thumb sweeping across it in the most tender regard. And those eyes that often harbor so much jest and haughtiness are rife with emotions I’m terrified and exhilarated to discover there.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He expels a ragged breath that corroborates his enthrallment before it morphs into the possessiveness that undoes me. “And you’re mine, Sly. All mine.”

“Yours,” I reply easily as my vision darkens, the sensations becoming all-consuming.

He clamps his thigh tighter over my pussy, enhancing the friction as he tweaks my nipple for the pain-laced pleasure that is sure to send me soaring. We work together, deepening his seat more each time he pistons his hips. I wrap my arm around his knee, bucking against his leg while my gaze remains locked on his. Our free hands find their way to each other, our fingers weaving together.

And here in the morning glow, he wrecks me and restores me. An anchor and a storm.

My core surges with my impending ecstasy, and my lips part to silently proclaim the arrival. The only utterance I manage is a feathery prayer, petition, and tribute. “Cash.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises with hooded eyes that suggest he’ll follow me over the blissful cliff. “Give it to me.”

The triumph and gold streak to ocean blues and specks of hope. A mainstay and a tempest. I detonate in an eruption that shatters my cells until I’m weightless and levitating on a cloud of rapture and avidity. And Cash falls prey to the same passionate gale of exaltation, jerking against me with grunts that claim and embrace.

Our breaths pant out. Our limbs melt into each other and the mattress. Our attention remains firmly tethered to one another, like the world beyond doesn’t exist. It awakens my valor—the fight that’s felt foreign in my grasp for far too long.

“This is how I plan to start the rest of my days—some part of me buried in your divine cunt.” He curls toward me, palms my head, and bites my lip, soothing it with a lick that promises the shaky dream he’s suggesting.

I embrace my tenacity and volley a teasing quip. “That seems optimistic, Noire. How long are you planning to live?”

“Cute.” He pecks my hair, such a sweet gesture, before he pulls out and hoists me over his shoulder, carting me into the bathroom, caveman-style, while pushing his cum back inside me.

We shower, and as he washes me, I wonder if this really will be how we spend our days. Mind-blowing sex and intimate talks. Family dinners and morning tasks. Domestic bliss.

Will that be enough for him long term?

Ordinary life is what led to the destruction of my last relationship, but then again, it was never this.