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I don’t waste time. Depositing her on her back, I slide down her naked body and bury my face between her thighs. She squeals when I lick her, then moans when I circle her opening with my fingertip.
I never do this. When asked for it, I may do it with protection. It’s not my thing.
But with Pax it’s different. Her scent, her taste...Everything about her turns me on, and I could spend hours with my tongue on her clit and my fingers fucking her, licking up her sweetness and getting so turned on I’m about to come in my pants.
Distracting her. Distracting me. Whenever I think how that guy tied me up and whipped me with his belt, I have red crossing my vision. I hated every second of it. That feeling of helplessness and frustration and fear.
Is that how Pax felt in that biker club? What scarred her so deeply she was too scared to be with a guy for years?
Fuckers. Getting off on others’ fear and pain. If I had them now in front of me, I’d punch them to pulp.
Pax shakes underneath me and I focus on her. She’s about to come, I sense it, and I work her faster, my own body trembling with need, the pressure in my gut painful.
“Riot, I…” Her voice breaks on a keening cry, and I gasp, feeling her pussy contract around my fingers.
Fuck, so close. My dick twitches, leaking inside my briefs.
I pull back, rubbing my fingers back and forth, prolonging her pleasure, and I press with my other hand on my cock, to ease some of the pressure.
She’s coming down from it, her eyes glazed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, harsh pants. “Riot.”
“Right here.” I draw my fingers out, slowly, and she shudders and moans. “God, I want you.”
“Do it. Want to feel you.” She licks her lips. “Inside me.”
I should ask again if she’s sure, if it’s not too soon after coming, but it’s as if I’ll come apart if I don’t get inside her soon. Like I’m held together by a wish and a prayer, and only she can put me back together.
So I shuck off my boots, socks and pants, and crawl up over her, my hard-on dragging over her naked body, leaving shiny trails. Grabbing a condom from my jacket, I tug it on quickly.
I’m so hot my blood burns under my skin, inside my cock. I’m burning for her. Need her so much. Her hot body, her dark eyes, her past and her pain, her sweetness and her concern.
Fucked-up.
“Look at me,” I whisper, and she puts her hands on my shoulders as I push into her. “God, look at me.”
See me. Not a random escort. Not someone you pay for. Not a thing. Me.
Her dark eyes lock with mine, and I thrust inside her all the way, groaning deep in my chest at the way she clenches around my cock.
God, I wish I could ditch the condom and spill inside her, feel her around my dick as she convulses and cries out my name.
Skin to skin. No barriers. No lies and half-truths.
But that’s not gonna happen. She’s concerned now, but she won’t like it. Won’t like my truth. My past.
So I start moving, to drown out the looping thoughts driving me crazy. Drown them out in need and pleasure. I capture her mouth in a long kiss as I move faster, my balls drawing up, my cock swelling until I think it’ll burst through the condom.
Need her to come. I won’t last. I reach with one hand between us, find her clit, press.
“Come for me, baby,” I gasp as she tightens around me and mewls her pleasure. “Fuck. Come with me. Now.”
“Oh God,” she moans into my mouth and squeezes around my dick. “God, Riot.”
“I’m gonna come,” I warn her, because even if she tells me no I can’t stop it. “Gonna come with you.”
She arches off the sofa and I tumble headfirst into a shattering orgasm. I long moan rises up my throat, lost against her lips, as my dick jerks and my balls clench and my whole goddamn body pulses with it.
Fire. Pain. Pleasure. Release.
