Chapter Thirty-Two Blake
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blake
Creighton didn’t hold back.
His mouth opened over mine, and I was helpless to do anything except cling to him. He was rough. There was a primal edge to his kiss, and something inside of me, deep inside of me, began to respond. Like there was my own monster in me and he was waking her up.
My whole body shook. “Eight.”
He had one hand holding the side of my face, but suddenly both his hands were there. How he got the other free, I didn’t know. I also wasn’t surprised. He framed my face.
God. Those eyes of his. They were usually dead. They were black looking back at me, but I could see something stirring in them. There was a heat overlaying that, whatever was underneath.
A prick of fear stabbed me, and I shoved it aside.
He held still, still staring at me, and both of his thumbs swept over my cheeks. He tilted my head backward, dropping his mouth to my throat. A groan left me.
That felt good. That felt so good.
“Creighton,” I gasped again, my hands grabbing onto his biceps.
His hands left my face and dropped to my thighs. He lifted me up, swept the pillow out from between us, and pulled me on top of him. I sank down, feeling how hard he was.
I pulled back and looked at where we met.
We were both still clothed. I hadn’t wanted to feel completely disarmed against him, so I stayed in my day clothes when I waited for him.
Jeans and a sweatshirt. He came to me in black athletic joggers and a black sweatshirt.
I loved this look on him. Always had. It made him look like an elite athlete, and sometimes I liked to indulge.
I’d daydream about what life would be like if we were different people.
If he was a professional athlete and I was his girlfriend.
Or hell, maybe someone like the owner of a bookstore.
Notting Hill, where neither of us were known.
But Creighton would turn those blank eyes on me, and the reminder that there was no point to daydreaming would return. Tonight, though, I could pretend. I could indulge. He tasted my throat, and another tremor went through me.
I was giving in. At least for the night.
I was letting myself be his.
A thrill burst in me as I rocked over him.
He surged up, his hands clamping over my hips, and as I began moving over him, he moved with me.
He kept tasting my throat, sliding to linger over my pulse.
Dark hunger amped up in me. I felt electrified and alive, and I didn’t know how to handle all these sensations that he was giving me. They were big and strong and demanding to be met. Demanding to be faced.
I gulped. My head was beginning to swim. My vision was clouding.
One of his hands slid to my waist and slipped under my sweatshirt. He let it rest there, but the feel of his palm against my naked skin, knowing how close it was to where I was aching for more, another groan escaped me.
I didn’t try suppressing how my body was shaking. Raking my hands up his arm, over his shoulders, up the back of his neck, my fingers tangled with his hair like in his warehouse. This time, though, I gave in to my need and yanked his head back.
He let me, his eyes opening to slits to meet my gaze.
This monster was mine. All mine. He was letting me do whatever the fuck I wanted to do to him. I was drunk on that power. A sudden impatience whipped through me, making me slide even closer to the edge. I was slipping.
I didn’t give a fuck.
Creighton frowned, seeing the storm inside of me, but didn’t comment.
I kept one of my hands holding his hair, kept holding his head back, and lifted up from his lap. I only knelt upward, my other hand making quick work of unbuttoning my jeans.
His hands moved to help me.
I growled. “No.” Deep and low.
His hands fell away, but his eyes turned molten. He liked my commands.
When I got my jeans opened, I shoved them down.
My underwear as well. My impatience had snapped.
I was barely able to even think about what I was doing.
I just wanted him, and I was done waiting.
I didn’t sink back down on him. Not yet.
My hand moved to his pants, and I growled again, because I couldn’t pull them down with only one hand.
I pushed my body against his, arching over him, and I hissed a low warning. “Stay.”
The blackness in his eyes sparked, but he didn’t respond.
He stayed as I let go of his hand. Standing up, I shimmied the rest of the way out of my jeans and underwear.
They were tossed aside, then I knelt before him.
I yanked his pants down. My hand reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped around his dick, finding it thick and long and hard.
I pulled his boxer briefs down the rest of the way. My hand worked him over.
His own groan slipped from him. He had moved his head enough so he could watch me. His eyes were hooded. For some reason, I liked that look on his face.
“Do you have a condom?”
His eyebrows lowered, just briefly, but he nodded. “Wallet. Pants pocket.”
I knelt down to fish it out, finding the condom. I pulled it out and sheathed it over him, my hand smoothing over his tip.
His body shook. “Fuck, Quokk—”
“No,” I snapped, glowering at him.
He bit his lip. Fuck. He liked what I was doing.
A part of me enjoyed that. It helped feed this wanton need that had risen to the surface, demanding to take over because I was so very tired of starving myself from him. Not anymore. Not tonight. I was going to have my fill.
I moved back over him and began to lower myself.
He caught my hips and squeezed. “Blake,” he rasped out.
“No.” I didn’t know what he wanted, but this was about me and what I wanted. But some reality slipped in, and I remembered that I needed to make sure he wanted to do this. “Do you want me?”
His hands flexed at my question. “Always.”
“Then I want this.”
He started to say something.
I clasped my hand over his mouth, shutting him up. “I need this, Creighton.”
He gently bit the inside of my hand, which sent tingles through my core. I was throbbing. After licking over that mark, he pulled his head back and murmured, “You’re a virgin.”
How did he—of course, he would know. “It’s creepy as fuck that you know that.”
He flashed me a slight smile but bent to kiss my hand again before taking it in his teeth, in a gentle hold. He raked his teeth over my finger before pulling back to say, “I need to make sure you’re ready. Let me.”
His hand slid to my clit, and he began circling there, massaging me.
Lust built and built the more he rubbed, then he slid a finger inside of me, stretching me.
I caught my breath.
He leaned in, his mouth finding my throat. He nuzzled there before moving up, kissing my chin, then my lips again. He spoke against them as he slid a second finger inside, moving both within me. “Your hymen is still intact. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I moved my head in permission, soundless.
He inserted a third finger, still stretching me.
I grunted. The pain was there.
He pressed a kiss against the corner of my mouth. “This will hurt.”
I tilted my head, my mouth closing over his fully, and I was done waiting. I lowered myself over him. His hand slipped out, but only went to help align himself with me. His other helped guide my hips.
I tensed.
“You need to relax.” His tongue slid inside of my mouth.
Need shook me.
He felt my body trembling. His one hand slipped to the small of my back, his palm splaying out, anchoring me. “Baby, are you su—”
I sheathed myself over him, feeling him entering me and pushing past that resistance.
It hurt. He was fully inside of me, but he waited, holding firm. He pulled my body against his and his mouth gaped over my throat. “Holy fuck. You’re tight.” His teeth skimmed my neck, but he still held still.
Both of his hands went to the tops of my legs, just touching me there.
I tried to move.
He pressed down. “No. Wait. You need to adjust to me.”
I dropped my head to his neck and mewled against him, needing this pain to go away. I’d waited so long, and it was an annoyance. He wrapped his arms around me tightly. “Wait, Blake. God. Please. Fucking wait. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
Hearing his voice break, I settled, but then I was just gasping for breath. And suddenly, I needed him to be completely naked. I wanted skin on skin. Almost frantic, I pulled at his shirt. A desperate cry ripped from me because I couldn’t get it off him fast enough.
He helped, then reached for my sweatshirt until finally, blessedly, I felt his naked skin against mine.
There was a sheen of sweat that had worked over his chest. Feeling his heart pounding through his chest, it thumped against my own.
He smoothed a finger up the side of my body, his thumb taking over, trailing up my arm, to my throat, to my chin, and he tipped my head to meet his. His mouth dropped back over mine.
“I need you.”
He sighed in surrender, and began to move.
It hurt.
He continued going inside of me. The pain began to lessen as the pleasure began to awaken.
“Eight,” I sighed.
Suddenly there was only pleasure.
I’d never felt anything as good as this. It was swirling through me and building and writhing, and I wanted more of it.
I pulled on his hair, as hard as I could, needing, just needing more.
He bit out a curse, reached up, and disengaged one of my hands. “You can scrape me up as much as you want, but I need my hair.”
Right, I realized belatedly, but he was thrusting up into me, and I forgot all about what he said. Except the part where I could scrape him. My nails raked over his back. He trembled under my touch.
I liked knowing that I could make him react like that, so I did it again. And again.
He shook every time until he clamped an arm tight around me and flipped us so I was on my back and he was settled between my legs. He stayed inside of me, only paused once to make sure I was okay. My head fell back against the bed, and I moaned. “Fucking move. Now.”
A husky laugh left him before he cursed. He took hold of my hip and used that for traction so he could thrust at a deeper angle.
I grasped onto the back of his head again, but remembered about his hair. I only tugged on him lightly, lifting his head so I could assert my mouth to his again. I liked kissing him as he was moving inside of me. “I’m not fragile.”
“You’ll be sore.”
A sound of frustration rose from me. I scowled at him. “I want you to fuck me.”
Something snapped inside of him. I caught my breath, seeing a glimpse at the monster I knew resided inside of him. He rose over me, yanked me down at a different angle, and braced himself against the headboard. He reared back only to slam into me.
Yes. Yes. This was what I wanted.
This was fucking. I didn’t want anything smooth that might’ve resembled lovemaking. I wanted primal and carnal and animalistic, and this was what he was giving me. He pounded into me, no longer holding back for me. This. I shivered, my hands skimming his neck, to his shoulders, to his back.
This was what I wanted from him, and now that I had it, why had I waited this long?
He opened a door in me, one that went into something vast and deep and dark, and my body quaked from how addictive all of this was.
It rose and climbed, and I opened my mouth, a silent scream caught in my throat.
I hurdled over the edge, my walls clamping down on him.
My vision went black, and I dug my nails into his skin.
I broke through, feeling something warm and hot trickle out.
It sent him over the edge, and he grew still, his release pulsating inside of me.
As the tremors began to wane, I lay there, trying to catch my breath because holy shit, what had that been? I met his gaze as he pulled out. He tugged off the condom, tying it up, leaving the bed and room.
He came back a moment later, a warm towel in his hand, and he used it to clean me. He left again. When he returned, he pulled on his boxer briefs and slipped back into bed with me. “You should go to the bathroom.” He patted my hip.
I didn’t want to move, but I knew he was right.
I slipped out of the bed, reached for his sweatshirt and put it on.
It fell to my thighs. I hurried into the bathroom and tried avoiding the mirror because I already knew I would look a mess.
I went through the motions of getting ready for bed before returning to bed.
I snuggled in still wearing his sweatshirt. It smelled like him.
He moved to my side, curling around me, and one of his hands went to my stomach. He began to rub in slow circles. “You okay?”
A half laugh, half gurgle came out of me. “Is sex like that normal?”
His eyes flickered, some of the vast emptiness looked like it sparked a little. “That—” He expelled a ragged breath. “No, Blake. That wasn’t normal sex. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
I grabbed his hand and brought it up to lightly bite his fingers.
He chuckled, letting me nibble on his hand.
I didn’t know why I was doing this. He’d woken something in me, and whatever it was, there was anger in me, mixing with a thirst that felt like it was never going to be quenched.
It made me feel on edge, which was mixing with a deep feeling of contentment and being sated.
I was all mixed up inside, and somehow, clamping down on his hand with my teeth helped take some of that edge off.
I moved my head so I was looking up and not at him anymore. I confessed, breathless, “I want to do that again.”
He used his other hand to smooth some of my hair down the side of my face. “We will. We’ll do it as many times as you want.”
“Even if I’m mad at you? Because I’m mad at you a lot.”
He sighed. “Even if you’re mad at me.”
“Even if I hate you at that moment and want to murder you?”
“Even then.”
There was one more thing, and my throat swelled at the idea of bringing it up because we had never talked about other people before. “I don’t want you touching anyone else.” I knew he had used others in the past for his sexual needs.
His hand stilled on my hair before he continued running his fingers through my strands. “I will not let anyone else touch me. Just you.”
I relaxed and closed my eyes, knowing full well that we both just skirted around the truth. That I had just claimed him as much as he had always claimed me. A shiver worked its way down my spine, but I ignored it. Right now, I didn’t care what the consequences for this night were going to be.
I went to sleep.