17. Simone #2
His hips rock into my hand, driving that point home as he yanks my jeans down, all the way to my ankles, as he pushes my legs just far enough apart that he can get between them.
I’m trapped—under his weight, his hands, the tangle of my clothes—and my heart beats hard, arousal flooding me at the situation I’ve found myself in.
All I can feel is Tristan, all I can taste is him on my tongue, all I can smell is the heat of his skin and his spiced cologne, wrapped up with the warm scent of leather as he bats my hand away and frees his cock with a groan.
“You’re going to come on it,” he growls, angling his length into the narrow space between my thighs. “You’re going to come on my fucking cock before we get home, Simone, or we’re going to make the driver wait while I fuck you until you do.”
“I’m not—” I start to protest, to argue like I always do, but the words are stolen on a rush of air as his cock pierces me, thick and hard and stretching me around his length like it’s the first night all over again.
There’s nothing soft or slow about the way he claims me—he drives into me, hard, sinking to the hilt with a ragged groan as my body clenches around him.
Tristan lets out a hiss of pleasure between his teeth, his hips rocking against mine so that he grinds against my clit. Sensation races through me, over my skin, making my nerves come alive with it as his mouth covers mine again, hard and punishing.
“Mine,” he growls, his teeth nipping sharply at my lower lip. “Come on it, célie . I want you to get me wet. Soak the fucking seats. Come all over my cock.”
His voice is harsh, commanding, his accent thick as he thrusts again, his green eyes gone dark with lust. I open my mouth to refuse him, but he kisses me again, his body a driving weight against mine as he fucks me relentlessly, demanding my surrender.
I don’t want to give it to him. I won’t. But?—
God, it feels so fucking good.
Everything about him was made to be a temptation, made to break my resistance to him.
His scent, his body, the rough flex of his muscles, and the thick perfection of his cock, the way his copper hair falls into his face, and the way he kisses me like his mouth was made for mine.
It’s as if he’s turning me inside out with pleasure, every stroke of his body within mine lighting me on fire, and I can feel my orgasm coiling, rising, ready to burst through me and give me the relief I so desperately need.
No, no…
It’s so hard to resist. So hard to resist him .
And he knows it. His mouth devours mine, his tongue licking along my lower lip before plunging in again, the strokes of his tongue against mine matching the rhythm of his cock thrusting relentlessly into me.
“Come on it,” he growls again, arching his hips so that he rubs against my most sensitive spots with every thrust, inside and out, and I can feel myself unraveling.
“You’re going to do it, célie .” He bites my lip again. “Stop fighting it. Give your body what it needs. Give me what I need.”
Somehow, those last words are what undo me.
The idea that this man, this dangerous, powerful, asshole of a man that I hate so much, is equally undone by me , shatters the last of my resistance to the pleasure coursing through me.
He thrusts again, his thick length filling me, his hips grinding into mine, his mouth nearly suffocating me with the desperation of how much he needs me—and I feel the orgasm crash through me, unstoppable and tearing a scream from my lips as my body arches and writhes under his.
Tristan yanks his mouth back from mine, eyes locked onto mine as he looks down at me with an expression of victorious lust, still thrusting hard as he seems to drink in my scream of pleasure, the sound turning to a high-pitched moan as I clench and ripple around him.
His hands drop to my hips, holding me in place as his pace turns frenetic, and he groans as I feel him stiffen inside of me.
“Oh fucking Christ —Simone?—”
I feel the hot rush of his cum, filling me as his cock throbs, my body still rhythmically clenching around his as my orgasm winds down.
His fingers dig into my hips, his jaw tight, his copper hair falling into his face as he bucks against me, his orgasm chasing mine as another moan of pleasure tears free from his lips.
In the aftermath, he stares down at me, his hands still on my hips and his cock still twitching inside of me, his green gaze holding mine. “You came for me,” he murmurs, that victorious tinge still in his voice, and I glare up at him.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I will.” He leans down, kissing me again, hard and possessive.
“One isn’t enough for me, Simone. Not a dozen, or a hundred.
I’m going to make you come every fucking night until all you remember is how my cock feels inside of you, and I’ve forgotten the taste of every other woman, the feeling of any other woman coming on my cock.
You are mine .” He snarls it against my lips, rocking against me, his cock still half-hard and buried in me.
The car slows, and Tristan slides out of me.
He shifts to sit next to me, tucking himself away, and I grab for my jeans and panties, yanking them back up as I button them with shaking hands.
I refuse to look at him, my heart beating hard, the awareness of how thoroughly I enjoyed that is as humiliating as the way he put me on my knees earlier.
I hate this man. I don’t want to be his .
But something inside of me does. And he knows how to exploit it, knows the battle I’m fighting—a battle that he wants me to lose.
The car rolls to a stop, and Tristan opens the door, holding out a hand as I see the mansion on the other side of him.
“Let’s go home, Simone.”