Chapter 11 #2
Two fingers slid in, slow, knuckles pressing, the stretch burning good. He curled, found what made my breath catch, and stroked carefully. My back arched. His good hand held my thighs open. The bandage at my throat tracked my ragged breathing, pressing when I got too close, easing when I lost it.
“Eyes on me.” He lifted his head so I could see his mouth, wet, his jaw tight. “Don’t look away.”
I locked on. He sucked my clit and pumped his fingers in a rhythm that emptied my head. I felt everything build in tight circles, drawing inward, hot. He knew the second I tipped, his grip at my pulse went firm, pinning me, and he murmured low into me.
“Selina.”
I shattered. It hit hard enough I choked on air, thighs clamping on his head, everything tightening around his fingers while he kept licking, kept working me through it. Pleasure rolled through me until I had no sound left.
He eased me down gently. Lips pressed to the inside of my thigh, one kiss, no words. Then he pushed up, chest heaving, and wiped his mouth with his wrist.
He stared. It was filthy and I burned again.
“Condom,” I managed. My voice was raw.
He reached to the nightstand smoothly, and slid open the drawer. He tore the foil with his teeth, watching my face the whole time, making me watch. The rubber rolled down over him, his hand firm at the base, and my mouth went dry watching his thick cock. A bead at the crown vanished under latex.
I reached down and wrapped my fingers around him. He swore, chest jerking against my hand. He was hot under the condom, solid, the jolt of heat punching need through my gut again.
“How deep?” His voice was rough.
“All the way.” I lifted my hips and dragged the head along me, coating him, catching my clit on the ridge. The tease made us both curse.
He knocked my hand away and lined up, the head pressing at my entrance. He waited, face above mine, focus razor-sharp.
“Look at me.”
“I am.”
“Stay.”
He pushed in slowly, his eyes on mine. The stretch burned, my body taking him, breath breaking. He didn’t stop until he was in deep, hips against mine. His thick cock filled me almost to the point of pain that twisted into something that made my nails bite his shoulders again.
“Fuck, Selina.” It sounded like a prayer.
I moved first, testing. The drag made both of us groan.
He answered with a thrust, shallow, then another, deeper, the slide wet.
He kept the bandaged hand at my throat, steadying me, his gaze locked on mine.
His other hand caught my knee and hitched it higher on his hip.
The angle changed sharply, and made my spine arch.
“Right there.” The plea broke when he thrust again.
“Yeah.” His mouth twitched, almost smiling. “Take it.”
He set a pace that hurt good. Long drives that bottomed out and dragged slowly on the way back, letting me feel every inch.
Then shorter ones, quick, turning my gasps into something needy.
He watched every flinch, every reaction, adjusting perfectly.
Sweat slid down his throat. A vein pulsed at his temple.
His jaw stayed tight; he was holding back from taking me into the mattress until I screamed.
“Harder,” I demanded. “Specter, harder.”
His control slipped. He gripped my wrists in one hand and shoved them higher, pinning them to the headboard.
That drove him deeper. He withdrew until the head nearly left me, then thrust hard enough that my vision blurred.
The headboard hit the wall in a steady rhythm, and I flushed.
I didn’t care. I wanted the neighbors to hear.
“Say it,” he growled out, driving into me. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Mine,” I answered, teeth bared. “You get to borrow it.”
He laughed, a rough sound escaping him, and fucked me harder. The hand at my throat slid to my chest, two fingers pressing above my sternum, pinning me. He knew. He worked around it without me asking, no pressure on my windpipe, only weight that grounded me in the bed, in us.
“Smart girl,” he said. “Keep breathing. Come on my cock.”
I tipped. It built fast, brutal, the slap of our bodies sending heat through everything. He dragged his thumb over my clit and the world exploded. Pleasure shot down my spine and broke me. I cried out, loud, and clamped around him, convulsing. He groaned hard, his thrusts breaking, control gone.
“Fuck…”
I rode it, took every thrust he gave until he locked deep and froze. The tendons in his neck stood out. His mouth opened, wordless. I felt him pulse through the condom, deep inside me. He held there, buried, body rigid, then shuddered down slowly, forehead dropping to mine.
Silence took over, heavy with breath and skin. The throbbing of his cock faded slowly inside me. The bandage at my throat had left a rasp that matched the ache between my thighs. Everything smelled like salt and winter air from the window and us.
“You still with me?” he asked at the corner of my mouth.
“I’m right here.” I slid my wrists from his hold and cupped his jaw, thumb on the scar. “You?”
His clear gray eyes searched mine. No distance or haze in them. He blinked once, stunned, and made a sound that might have been a laugh or something else.
“Yeah.” He kissed me softly. “Here.”
My thighs trembled around his hips. He eased out slowly, condom sliding, both of us wincing. He tied it off, tossed it away without looking, then braced on his good hand above me, careful with the bandaged one. I watched and felt something shift in my chest, not breaking, not healing, just moving.
I drew his hurt hand to my mouth and kissed the gauze. He watched as if I’d shocked him. His throat worked.
“Don’t say anything,” I whispered.
He didn’t. He just lowered himself to my side, half on, half off, careful not to crush me but staying close. I inched closer and listened to the pulse under my ear.
No program. No seizure. No lies.
Only him. Only me. And the mess we’d chosen.