3. Elara
Elara
My back slams against the wall, his lips crushing mine, devouring me as my dress drops to the floor.
The entire journey from Vice to—wherever the fuck we are—was short.
Barely five minutes, but it was five minutes that I spent crossing and uncrossing my legs, attempting to dull the ache between them.
It didn’t help that Mr. Stick-around-and-find-out had his hand wrapped around my thigh like I was anchoring him to reality, his touch only torturing me further.
It felt like an eternity, every second his fingers squeezed my flesh it stoked the fire within me.
I had only just made it out of the car—a very sexy matte black Maserati that purred like a fucking kitten—when I was back in the man’s arms. He carried me to his apartment like I weighed nothing—which isn’t surprising given his build.
The man has muscles that go on for days.
I could spend the night just tracing every cord of muscle, every strained vein with my tongue, and I don’t think I’d get bored.
Hooking my legs around his waist, the guy pins me against the wall, his cock sliding through my folds.
Every grind of his hips has me begging for more, for him to just fuck me.
There’s no need for foreplay. As soon as the guy stripped, I was wet for him, my body aching for him.
And his cock is just as veiny as the guy’s body.
One look at it and I was ready to get on my knees.
But apparently, as fast as we’re moving, the man likes to tease, and I’m teetering on the edge of losing my mind.
Every time I think he’s going to sink into me, he does the opposite.
Every time I think he’s going to give me that huge cock, he nips my flesh with his teeth and lathers himself in my juices.
I’m a mess of chaotic thoughts and wild need, and I don’t know how much more I can take.
I slide my hands through his hair, tugging at the base of his hairline as a warning. “Just fuck me already,” I pant.
A dark chuckle erupts from his chest, his forehead resting against mine as he angles my hips toward him. He licks his thumb and presses it to my clit.
A whimper escapes me, my eyes squeezing closed.
“So fucking impatient,” he murmurs. “You’re trouble.”
I suppose there are worse things I’ve been called.
When I open my eyes, he’s wearing a predatory smile that makes my heart race.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and rough. It holds the command of a soldier, with the softness of a gentleman that I don’t mind obeying just this once.
I lick my lips, my breath coming out in short gasps. “Fuck me,” I whisper.
He smirks, leaning in closer. “Louder,” he commands.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Fuck me,” I say, my voice steady and sure. Because I am sure. I’m certain that I didn’t trek all this way into Sinner’s territory for me not to get railed by some tall, dark and handsome stranger in a penthouse.
He chuckles, a dark, dangerous sound that makes my stomach flutter. “Good girl,” he murmurs before capturing my mouth in another searing kiss.
He reaches between us, guiding himself to my pussy with blind conviction. This time, he doesn’t ease himself in or tease me. He thrusts into me, hard and unrelenting, filling me completely in one powerful stroke.
I gasp, my body arching into his, my nails digging into his back as he sets a brutal pace. There's no gentleness in his touch, no hesitation in his thrusts. He fucks me like a man possessed, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge, my body coiling like a spring ready to snap.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against my ear, his voice ragged.
I moan in response, unable to conjure the right words because the pleasure inside of me is building to unbearable heights.
His thrusts set a steady rhythm, my hips moving in time with his, eager for more. His hand grabs the nape of my neck, tugging my head backwards, allowing him more access. With his teeth he scrapes a path over my skin, the burn of his touch seeping into my veins.
A raspy moan escapes me; partly filled with delirium, the other part filled with the desperation for release.
But he doesn’t give it to me that easily.
He spins us around, walking us toward somewhere. I don’t really see where we are—because his lips are back on mine—until I hear the crash of glass, and feel the brutality of cold hardness pressing beneath my ass cheeks.
But when he pulls away from my mouth and presses his hand to my bare chest, pushing me backwards, I’m able to see that he’s moved us to the kitchen.
In all honesty, I don’t care where we fuck.
And neither does he.
He drives back into my pussy at full force, his hands hooking my legs over his shoulders. The new angle has me just about ready to combust. His thighs slap my ass on each thrust, and the real skill comes when he leans forward, sucking on one of my nipples as he fucks me within an inch of my life.
The guy hasn’t even broken a sweat, but the concentration in his face is real.
He’s not just focused on me; he’s trying to forget, to distract himself from whatever is going on in his head.
His eyes are on me, on my face, my chest, where his cock impales me over and over again.
He sets a pace that has me gripping the countertop, my body tightening around him.
He reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit instantly, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.
That's all it takes.
My body convulses, my orgasm ripping through me as my cry of release echoes in the empty room. My skin hums with ecstasy, the wave of my climax washing over me.
He follows soon after, his body tensing as he pulls his pulsing cock out and covers me in ribbons of cum.
His hand doesn’t stop stroking his shaft until he’s spent, sticky heat enveloping me as he leans forward to press a kiss to my lips.
It’s a stark contrast to the way he just fucked me, and I can’t seem to get my head around it.
“Not so impatient now, are you?” he teases.
I smile back, my body still trembling with aftershocks and the need to settle my heart rate. “No,” I admit softly as he reaches past me for something. “Not anymore.”
“Good,” he rasps. He brings a cloth into view before leaning back so he can clean me up.
My first thought is that this guy is nothing like what I expected. He sure acts like a gentleman, dresses like one, too, but he doesn’t fuck like one. He fucks like a man possessed, a man who’s not afraid to put his money where his mouth is. He’s got a dirty soul, and I think I like it.
I watch as he tosses the cloth into a basket at the far side of the kitchen before turning towards a cupboard behind him.
I’m about to lower myself off the countertop when his gaze snaps to mine. “Where the fuck are you going?”
I throw my hair over my shoulder and try to act poised—which is a really bad idea because my fingers get caught in the knots instantly. “Tonight’s been fun,” I shrug, “I gotta get going now.”
In less than a breath, the man is pressing his sweat-slicked body against mine. “I don’t think so, Trouble.” Grabbing me by the back of my legs, he lifts me effortlessly, wrapping them around his waist. “Tonight’s just getting started.”
He carries me through the obscenely large apartment, kicking through a door that opens to a large bedroom.
The first thing I notice is the bed—low, wide, and centred like it owns the room. Dark wood, crisp sheets, untouched. It looks expensive, but not in a showy way. More like it’s meant to be used, not admired.
Then the windows catch my attention. Floor-to-ceiling glass stretches across the far wall, the city spilling in through it. Lights flicker against the surfaces, casting shadows that move with us, making everything feel a little more dangerous than it probably is.
There’s a dresser off to the side—sleek, dark, completely bare. No clutter, no personal touches, nothing to tell me who he is beyond what I’ve already seen.
And then there’s the space itself.
It doesn’t feel like a place someone lives in. It feels like a place someone passes through.
My gaze barely has time to settle before I’m pulled back into him, my focus snapping where it was before—onto the man who brought me here, who feels like the exact opposite of everything this room is trying to be.
He drops me onto his bed, the silk sheets kissing my skin. The bed is soft, which is more welcoming than the cold kitchen top I was just fucked on. His eyes never leave mine as he climbs on top of me. He's a predator, and I'm his prey.
I should be afraid, but all I feel is anticipation. I want to see what he'll do next, how far he'll push me.
His hands trail along my skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. He stops when he's hovering over me, his face inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my lips, see the hunger in his eyes.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls, his voice low and rough.
“I still never got your name,” I whisper.
A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. “Now, why would you want that?”
“So I know what name to scream.”
I’m guessing by the look in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t expecting that response. Especially when he leans down, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, tangling with mine, tasting me. I moan, my hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer.
He grinds his hips against me, his cock already hard again. I can feel it pressing against my thigh, and I shift, trying to line us up. He chuckles, breaking the kiss.
"Not so fast, Trouble," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "I told you, tonight's just getting started."
He trails his lips down my neck, his hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing against my nipples.
I arch into his touch, my body aching for more but he takes his time, exploring every inch of me.
He licks, sucks and bites, leaving marks on my skin. I can feel them, the physical evidence of his desire, and it only serves to fuel my own. He moves down my body, his hands gripping my thighs and pushing them apart.