Chapter Thirty-One #3
“Tig, please,” I begged, not caring how desperate I sounded. I was desperate. I was almost out of my mind with the need to feel him inside me, to have an end put to the aching desire inside.
But he was in no mood to give in, definitely the kind of man who liked to drag it out, who wanted you panting and screaming with every little touch, until you were beyond any limitations, until you would give him absolutely every bit of you.
That was the kind of man Tig was.
And while it wasn’t the kind of woman I was to give that, as his lips kissed the trail his tongue had blazed, I had the almost blinding realization that if there was any man in the world I wanted to offer that to—it was Tig.
After he had kissed over my ass, I could feel the bed depress where he kneeled, his hands reaching out to grab the soft flesh and squeezing hard before giving me what I had been fantasizing about since dinner—a good hard slap.
It wasn’t teasing either. It smarted. It stung enough to have me arching up, pressing my legs against my belly, which only managed to stick my ass further up toward him in invitation, which he was happy to take, slapping again, harder.
The moment after the third slap landed, two of his fingers thrust inside my pussy, making my legs shake at the intensity of the feeling.
Never, never before had fingers thrust inside me made me feel so close to orgasm so fast.
His fingers curled inside, raking hard over my G-spot until I felt my walls tighten in the unmistakable promise of climax.
But Tig felt it too and pulled his fingers back out.
Desperate, I pressed up on my palms and then moved back to sit on my heels, my back pressing against his chest, my head angling up to look at him, seeing something I hadn’t expected to see there—possessiveness. And damn if it didn’t make my current orgasm-less state all the more painful.
His hands went to my hips, whispering up over my ribs, following the line of my bra between our bodies, unfastening it and stroking the straps down my arms until I was completely bare. While he was still fully clothed. I wanted to remedy that. I wanted to drive him…
His hands closed around my breasts, shocking me back into the sensations.
My nipples hardened as he moved to take them between his fingers, rolling them until they were painful points.
One hand stayed there, massaging, rolling, teasing.
The other slid back down my belly, slipping between my thighs and stroking me again.
“Soaked,” he growled, biting into my earlobe.
“Tig, please… please fuck me,” I managed when his thumb moved over my swollen clit.
“Yeah, honey, I’m gonna fuck you,” he agreed, his voice an even deeper sound than usual in his own desire, something that was like auditory porn to someone who always loved voices. “I am going to fuck you until you scream loud enough to lose your voice.” Yes, God, yes. “But not until you’re ready.”
On a frustrated groan, my hand moved down to cover his between my thighs, flattening his palm against my slick heat. “I’m ready.”
The growl that met my ear nearly sent me into a freaking blinding orgasm, without him even touching my clit anymore.
But when I didn’t immediately feel myself thrown onto the bed and his cock slam inside me once and for all, I couldn’t take anymore.
I turned, knees teetering on the edge of the bed, hands going to the hem of his shirt and unfastening the buttons, then pushing it and his jacket off his shoulders.
I wasted no time as my hands went to the waistband of his slacks, working the button and zip as fast as I could with impatient hands.
Tig’s hand went behind my neck, not coaxing, not making any demands, just a pressure, just a connection, as I reached inside and finally freed his straining cock, wrapping my hand around it and stroking it to the base, taking pure, feminine delight in the sound of his breath hissing out of him.
I sank down, dropping onto my ass on the bed, spreading my legs to the outsides of his as I ducked my head and claimed his cock the same way he claimed my pussy—with delight and precision and the promise of something I was not going to give him.
His hand fisted in my hair as I worked him fast and deep, as my hand moved out to cup and massage his balls, as my tongue moved over the head and licked off the beads of pre-cum that formed there.
“Fuck, Kenzi…” he growled, pulling on my hair, trying to get me to move back. I didn’t though; I just angled my head up to look him in the eye with his cock buried deep. “Fuck.”
But he wasn’t going to let it go at that.
He used my hair to tug almost violently back, making me lose his cock as he pushed me against the mattress, his knees pressing into mine, holding them wide on the bed. His hand massaged up my inner thigh for a second before his hand pulled back slightly, then lurched forward, slapping my pussy.
And I about died from the completely unanticipated pain/pleasure mix that exploded outward from the contact.
Picking up on that, his smile went a little wicked as he pulled back and slapped again.
Then his hands were sinking into my hips, digging in, lifting, and tossing me up the bed. I had barely settled before he was on top of me, moving between my legs. His cock slid against my pussy, flattening, as he planted his hands and lowered his chest to mine, as his lips crushed into mine again.
I don’t know how long we stayed that way, his cock rubbing against me, his lips claiming mine until they felt swollen and sensitive.
All I knew when he finally pressed up and reached into the nightstand was I was completely and utterly lost in him, consumed by him. And while it absolutely was the most vulnerable I had ever felt with a man, it wasn’t scary.
Because if there was a man alive I knew I could trust to take care of me, it was him.
Which he did.
As he slid on a condom to protect us.
As he stayed on his ankles, reaching for my lower body and dragging me up until my ass was on his hips. As he held his cock and led it toward the entrance to my body. As his eyes found and held mine as he finally slid inside me.
I wasn’t prepared for the strange, uncontrollable, irrational surge of emotion the penetration brought with it, making my hand automatically reach for his, needing the contact, needing to ground myself as he pushed as deep as my body would allow, as he settled there, still just watching me.
His hand squeezed mine for a moment before releasing it, both of them going to my sides and pulling me up until I was straddling him.
My arms went around his neck as my hips started moving, not caring about the emotional upheaval I was experiencing and needing to lessen the throbbing need deep inside.
Really, I was so far gone that by the fifth time I moved against him, the orgasm crashed through me, making a choked cry escape me as I collapsed forward against him, completely unable to even force my legs to hold myself up. He wrapped me up and let the waves crash, let me moan into his shoulder.
Sweet. Perfect.
The closest to making love I had ever experienced.
And that was exactly why I should have anticipated what happened next.
The second the pulsations stopped, he tossed me backward, shocking me enough to make me yelp, as he grabbed my ankles, tossing me onto my stomach again. There wasn’t even a second to adjust to the change in position before his hands were sinking into my hips, dragging them up and back.
He slammed inside me, the pressure behind making my entire body lurch forward, and had he not been holding my hips, I was pretty sure I would have slammed full-force into the headboard.
“Fuck,” I hissed, hands curling into the sheets.
One of his hands moved up to the center of my back, holding the upper part of my body down as he started to fuck me.
And there was nothing the least bit gentle about it.
It was pure, raw, animalistic fucking. That mixed with the fact that he had started slapping my ass and making his own deep, low growls had me doing exactly what he said I would—screaming until my throat felt raw.
It wasn’t long—another five minutes tops—before the next orgasm crashed through me.
And if I thought the first was intense, this one was enough to blank out my vision, to deafen my ears, to take me outside of my body for a long second before the pulsations of pleasure dragged me back, screaming his name into the sheets as the wholly unexpected sting of tears met my eyes.
He thrust through mine before he found his own, planting so deep that it pinched with my name on his lips.
And I swear no sound in the world had ever sounded that good to my ears.
He stayed buried deep for a long moment, both of us trying to catch our breath. I was trying to blink those ridiculous tears away and get a hold of myself.
It was just sex.
Sex was sex.
It didn’t mean more than that unless you wanted it to.
And I didn’t.
Right?
“Be right back,” Tig said as he slid out of me, leaning down and biting hard into my left ass cheek before the bed shifted and I could hear him walk into the door that was beside his dresser. The primary bath, I assumed.
I knew logically that I should have been moving, trying to get under the sheets. But, quite frankly, my mind and body were not in agreement about much right then, most especially moving and covering up, which my brain desperately wanted but my body said my brain could go get bent.
Tig came back out a moment later, rounding the side of the bed I was closest to, running a hand sweetly down my spine before reaching for the blankets beneath me, giving them a yank so that where I had been on top of them a second before, I suddenly found myself beneath them.
He moved into the small space that was between my body and the edge of the bed, hauling me up and onto his chest to make more room for himself. His giant arms were anchors around me. One of his hands moved up to sift through my hair.
Beneath my ear, his heartbeat was already back to normal, his breathing slow and steady.
“You alright?” he asked a long minute later. “Not like you to be so quiet.”
That was true enough.
And because I was feeling too many things and all of them far too deeply in that moment, given how short a time we had known each other, I did what I did best—I deflected.
“You fucked the loudmouth out of me.”
Beneath me, his chest shook with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t fucking want that, honey,” he said, surprising me. All the men I had dated, even the most progressive and alpha of them, had always wanted to pull me back a bit, make me think things through more, be less abrasive. “We need to talk?”
God, he was good.
I always wanted to talk, but I found my thoughts too all over the place, constantly contradicting each other. If I opened my mouth about it, I would only make myself sound nuts.
“No,” I said instead, relaxing into him more. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
And it had been.
Maybe the longest of my life. It was full of soaring highs and cavernous lows, and really, that was the reason my brain and emotions were all over the place. I just needed to sleep. I needed to look at everything with fresh eyes after some rest.
“Alright,” he said, letting me have my peace as his hands kept stroking over me for a long couple of minutes before his palm became a heavy weight on my hip, and I knew he had passed out.
As for me, sleep was evasive.
My brain raced from one event to the other, doing so at such a rate I felt like I had mental whiplash.
Eventually, I tried to push all of that away, focusing only on the moment, how nice it felt to have a man holding me, a solid chest beneath me. It had been too long.
And the fact that it was a man as amazing as Tig, well, that just made it all the better.
What I had insisted to Cassie and Reese was true- Tig wasn’t my type.
His job was not the businessmen type I usually went for.
He was rougher in many ways but much sweeter in others.
I couldn’t remember the last man who actually asked if I wanted to talk.
In fact, I was sure such a phenomenon had never occurred before.
While I always went for tall guys, being tall myself, I had never dated someone who was practically a giant both in height and width.
My hand moved across his chest, feeling the strange smoothness of scars, wondering where they came from, wanting to know their stories, before my fingers drifted lower, over his belly.
It was perhaps the only part of him that wasn’t tightly corded muscle.
In fact, it was actually just a bit of a beer belly if I were completely honest. And somehow, I found that maybe the thing I liked best about his body.
Yes, even more than his arms. I liked that he wasn’t perfect.
And I liked it even more that he owned it.
There wasn’t an insecure bone in his body.
Despite all the pep talks I gave to Reese, I was often aware that, while I was the shit, I was not perfect either.
My ass, being big, had stretch marks and was maybe a little bumpy in the wrong light.
My boobs were small. My lips were oversized.
I wasn’t some magazine’s idea of “ideal.” But I still owned it.
And there was nothing sexier in the world than someone who was unabashedly themselves, flaws and all.
So when I eventually did drift off to sleep almost a full hour later, my hand was resting on his belly, and I found myself oddly unable to move it away.
Maybe, as the waves of sleep were pulling me under, I had the distinct feeling of comfort, of rightness, of feeling like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
But luckily, I fell asleep before those thoughts could take root and sprout.
Because they were completely insane.