Chapter Twenty-one #2
He grabs my chin, turning my head so I’m facing him, and his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is feral, hungry, his wet tongue invading my mouth without hesitation.
He explores every inch, licking and tasting me like he’s reclaiming what’s his.
My lower lip isn’t spared either, he sucks on it greedily before biting down, hard, as if punishing me for something I don’t even remember doing.
His hand moves faster between my legs, relentless in its rhythm, while the cold, unyielding press of the gun against my clit intensifies, dragging cries and gasps from my lips that I can’t control.
“Did you enjoy that little show you put on?” he demands, his voice dark with anger, his teeth nipping at my lip again as he speaks. His free hand moves down, delivering a sharp slap to my pussy that makes me yelp, the sting mingling with the pleasure already building inside me.
Another moan spills from my lips, loud and unrestrained. I can’t stop it, don’t even want to.
“Do you like watching me lose my mind?” he growls, his words almost a snarl as he presses the gun harder against my clit. The pressure sends a jolt of pleasure straight through me, sharp and electric, and a loud, broken moan tears from my throat.
I can’t take it anymore.
The need coils tight in my core, unbearable and consuming. My body trembles, and I know I’m seconds away from breaking completely.
“I need to come,” I whisper, my voice shaking with desperation, my mind clouded with nothing but him and the chaos he’s made of me.
“Answer me,” he demands, his voice rough and unrelenting as his hand comes down sharply, slapping my pussy again.
The sting sends a jolt through me, making me gasp.
His grip tightens on my jaw, forcing me to look directly into his eyes.
They’re filled with frustration and a dangerous intensity that only fuels the fire building inside me.
The denial of my orgasm has me trembling, desperation clawing at me. My hips buck instinctively, seeking more, grinding against the top of his gun as it presses against my clit. But it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper, my voice breathless and shaky.
He smirks darkly, his gun trailing along me again, teasing and torturing, keeping me on the edge but refusing to push me over.
“You didn’t know what?” he growls, his tone low and cutting as he hooks a finger around my thong. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls it aside, exposing me completely. The cool air kisses my wet, sensitive skin, making me shiver.
“I didn’t know you cared,” I say, my hips moving of their own accord, grinding slowly against his erection. He’s hard as a rock beneath me, and I can feel how much he wants this, how much he wants me. It has to be painful, and the thought makes my need for him burn even hotter.
“I don’t,” he replies flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, his gaze unyielding.
Then, without warning, he thrusts the gun inside me. The cold, unrelenting metal presses deep, and my body jerks as it hits the perfect spot, the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
He moves it faster, deeper, each motion precise and unrelenting. The barrel brushes my G-spot with every thrust, sending pleasure coursing through me like a live wire.
The reality of what he’s doing, the danger, the sheer audacity, only makes me wetter, the thought igniting something primal inside me. With a simple flick of his finger, a single click, he could end me, and yet here I am, giving in completely to the sensation, the risk, the overwhelming pleasure.
My head falls back, my eyes rolling as my body responds to his every movement, helpless against the building tide. The gun thrusts inside me, merciless and perfect, and I know I won’t last much longer.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice rough and raw, the way he says baby sending a shockwave through me.
The word pushes me over the edge, and my body shutters against his. A loud, uncontrollable moan escapes me, and I cling to him, my nails digging into his skin as the aftershocks ripple through me. Breathless, I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to steady myself.
When I finally gather the courage to look at him, my heart skips a beat.
I’ve never seen a man as handsome as him, and right now, he looks impossibly perfect.
His dark hair is messy, tousled from my fingers, his lips puffy from our almost frantic kisses.
And his face, Gosh, that face. It’s the kind of face that makes you forget how to think, and right now, post-almost-sex, it’s devastatingly sexy.
His gaze locks with mine, intense and unwavering, and I can’t look away.
My hands move on their own, cupping his face, my fingers brushing along the sharp lines of his jaw.
His skin is warm beneath my touch, and I trail my hands downward, slowly, reverently, until they glide over the hard planes of his abdomen.
I’m still perched on his lap, my dress bunched around my waist, leaving me almost entirely exposed.
My breasts press against his torso, my nipples brushing lightly over his firm muscles with every tiny movement.
The sensation sends shivers through me, heightening the tension building between us again.
My pussy rests against his erection, bare and sensitive, the contact making my breath hitch. My body responds instantly, ignited by the thought of him, the weight of his gaze, the way he’s utterly still, as if waiting for me to make the next move.
All I can think about is him, how I could please him, how I could make him lose control completely, how I could make this moment go on forever.
And Gosh, I want him to let me.
I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against his, soft and deliberate. His mouth feels warm and inviting, the faintest taste of him lingering on my tongue as I pull back just enough to speak.
“I want you next time,” I whisper, my voice breathless and heavy with desire.
The words feel bold, foreign, as though they’re coming from someone else. But they’re mine, and I mean them. This man has given me three earth-shattering orgasms, and I’m already planning our next encounters, imagining all the ways he could ruin me again.
I don’t know where this courage is coming from. Normally, I’m more reserved, a prude, even. But with him, every inch of my body betrays me, responding in ways I didn’t know were possible. It’s wrong. It’s addictive.
His lips twitch into the faintest smirk, his voice low and husky as he murmurs, “And how do you know there’ll be a next time?”
His fingers trail lightly down my back, his touch leaving sparks in its wake, making me shiver beneath his hand.
“I don’t,” I admit, my voice soft but sincere. “But I wish there will be.”
For a moment, his gaze pierces mine, cutting straight to my soul. It’s intense, unreadable, as though he’s searching for something buried deep inside me.
Then he moves, grabbing the back of my neck with a firm but gentle grip, pulling me closer. His lips crash against mine, and this time, the kiss is different. It’s passionate, deliberate, slow but consuming.
Our mouths move together like we’re drinking from each other, desperate to satisfy a need that can’t be quenched. His hand tightens slightly on my neck, holding me in place as if letting me go isn’t an option.