CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
I’m outside myself now. Not the Bryce who gives press quotes and signs billion-dollar deals.
No longer calculating risks and playing the long game.
I am the man who let her jack him off in the jungle like a goddamn animal.
I moan into her mouth—savage and greedy.
She swallows the sounds, giving it back to me twice as dirty.
Fuck. That alone almost does me in.
The friction of the silk, her warmth pressing into me, triggers a full-body jolt. My eyes roll, and I tighten my grip on her juicy backside. My body drives the rhythm, pulling her hips harder into mine until we’re both panting.
Petra kisses like she’s corrupting my soul. As if she knows I’ve spent twenty-nine years being polite, restrained, appropriate—and she’s dragging me out of that hell, kicking and screaming.
Then my brain—my perpetually overanalyzing brain—hijacks the moment.
Why would she choose this? Me? When this girl has spent her whole life tearing down everything I represent? Does she think she owes me? Is this some kind of thank-you?
I tear my mouth away, both of us breathing hard. She looks thoroughly kissed—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with lust.
“Before we…” I clear my throat, searching for the words cautiously. “If this isn’t what you’re here for, say it now.”
“What?” She stares at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.
“If you don’t want to continue—”
“Oh, for the love of—stop being such a fucking gentleman.” She pulls back, stepping out of my reach.
“I want you ,” she continues. “The guy who grabbed my ass like he owned it thirty seconds ago. The beast you keep caged… The one who forgets to be proper… who takes what he wants. Let me hear those filthy sounds you make when you stop behaving.”
Her fingers trace her breasts up to the straps of her dress. Every muscle in my body coils tight.
“I’m not here for the trust fund version of Bryce Sterling. I want the guy who finger-fucked me in the wild.”
The crimson fabric slides off her shoulders like water, pooling at her feet. And underneath—
Mother of God.
She’s in nothing but red lace and fuck-me stilettos, and damn if she isn’t a combination of every filthy thought I’ve had since puberty.
Her black hair spills over one shoulder, and her tattoos peek out from the lace like secret promises.
I want her clutching the sheets, screaming my name in pleasure and begging for more.
“You’re…” I swallow, my voice thick. “You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”
She doesn’t roll her eyes. Doesn’t deflect. She stands there. She owns it.
Which turns me on more.
I close the space between us, fingertips ghosting along her collarbone then down to the delicate script tattooed along her ribs. I watch her breath catch as her skin pebbles beneath my touch.
Yet again, my brain tries to bulldoze the moment. “I feel compelled to mention. I can’t offer anything beyond tonight. My life is… complicated. ”
What the actual fuck is wrong with me? I should be worshipping this woman.
Her face goes blank for a heartbeat. Then, her wicked smile returns.
“I get it. In your world, girls like me are supposedly looking for a baby daddy and a mansion. But to be clear, I’m not applying to be Mrs. Sterling. I’m just curious to see if your dick lives up to my very low expectations.”
Her challenge makes me want to test her limits.
“There you go again. Thinking I won’t impress you.”
“Oh, Moneybags. I’m not one of your nice girls trained to lie there and clap politely after two minutes of mediocre effort. If you want praise, you’re going to have to earn it.”
My cock throbs with purpose, but for one terrifying moment, doubt cuts through the heat.
What if she does walk away unimpressed?
She holds her ground, confident and smug, as if my hesitation proves her point.
Instead, it lights a fire in my gut. I want to ruin her.
To prove her wrong. To s tep into this version of me—the one she pulled to the surface—and show her he’s not only real…
He’s dangerous.
I lean in, my lips teasing the shell of her ear. “What if I can’t choose just one way to fuck you?” My fingertips skate across the intricate lace covering her breast. “What if I want to explore them all until I find the position that makes you forget your own name?”
Her breath stutters. “Stop overthinking and show me. I trust you.”
Trust? From Petra? That’s not just rare—it’s sacred .
Every civilized instinct I possess evaporates.
I claim her mouth with bruising intensity as my hands span her waist and lift her up. She’s ignited—legs locking around my hips, heels digging into my spine with force, nails carving promises into my skin. The rough lace of her bra collides with my chest, creating delicious friction.
I walk us to the bed, our mouths locked in battle, and drop her—rougher than I intended. She bounces, laughs, and spreads her arms, a delicious offering. She surveys me with predatory satisfaction and a grin that could topple governments.
“What’s your personal record?” I ask, prowling closer. “Most orgasms in a single night?”
“Excuse me?”
I glide my palms slowly up her thighs, relishing how they twitch under my touch. “It’s a simple question. Give me a number.”
She shifts against the sheets, suddenly seeming less sure of herself. “Uh… two, maybe? Hard to keep track when you’re swimming in tequila and hoping the dude has a clue where your clit is.”
“Then consider this your warning. I will be doubling it. Walking tomorrow is going to be… ambitious.”
She reaches for my waistband with grabby hands. “Enough with the threats. I need you inside me right fucking now.”
I clutch her wrists to restrain her. “That’s not how this works. I set the pace.”
The issue is: I’m drowning in options and can’t pick a starting point.
Every fantasy I’ve ever pushed aside about her floods in at once—her riding my face, bending her over the bed, the dresser… trying advanced positions in the Kama Sutra. The sheer number of possibilities has me frozen .
This woman is giving me complete access. But what sends her over the edge? Where should I start? This kind of sexual freedom? It’s uncharted territory.
“Bryce.” She cups my jaw, anchoring my attention. “Stop using your head and think with your dick. Or swear to God, I’ll flip you onto your back and ninja fuck you until that fancy headboard snaps in half.”
My cock twitches hard. “Good luck managing that when you don’t have the use of your hands.”
I pull the silk belt free from my robe and bind it around her wrists—anticipation sparking in her eyes. I cinch the fabric tight. The spindle headboard creaks as I knot her to it, her arms extended overhead, body arched and waiting.
“Well, this escalated quickly,” she says, giving the restraint an experimental tug.
She’s splayed out before me like a work of art—her bound arms highlighting the sleek line of her torso, red lace mapping out a trail of temptation. Her dark hair is a glorious mess against the white sheets.
Growing bolder, I slide my hand inside my boxers, swiping precum from the tip before bringing my thumb to her mouth. Her eager tongue darts out before I issue my command.
“Now, now. Good things come to bad girls who wait.” I pause for a heartbeat. “Taste.”
She draws the digit into the wet heat of her mouth without hesitation, her tongue working magic while she hollows her cheeks to create suction. My body shivers. I yank my hand away before she can finish destroying my self-control.
“Nice try, but I’m in charge. ”
I lean over her bound form and trace my tongue—from the hollow of her throat down to her navel—savoring the way her muscles jump and flutter under my attention. When I venture lower, dipping just beneath the lace waistband, she arches against me with a sharp inhale.
“Aww,” I murmur into the damp fabric. “Don’t worry, lovely. I’m coming back for you. But not yet.”
“Did you just flirt with my vagina?”
“Yes.” I press a kiss to her hip.
Every minute with Petra sheds another layer of the man I’ve been pretending to be. This protective, controlled image I present to the world. With her, I am… free.
I shift over her body, my silk boxers dragging against her lace panties as I brace my forearms beside her shoulders. My mouth hovers just above hers. I speak low, letting every syllable drag.
“I already know how incredible it feels to mouth-fuck your perfect little pussy. So now I need to know how it feels when it tightens around my cock and milks me dry. But first…” I drag my teeth along the curve of her jaw, teasing. “First, I want to hear you sing for me.”
My hips drop, pressing the full length of my erection over her panty-covered clit.
Silk meets lace. I roll my hips into her. Fuck yes!
A sharp breath hisses between her teeth. Her back arches. I grind harder against the slick center of her panties. My cock throbs at the feel of her wetness, and I haven’t even slid inside her yet.
“Still think I’m boring, Pip?”
Petra doesn’t answer. She can’t. She’s making this keening, strangled sound that turns my spine to liquid and makes my balls pull tight. She tilts her hips higher, rubbing greedily against my cock .
I kiss her like a man trying to chew through his own restraint, my hand slipping inside her bra to palm her breast. My rough caress teases her nipple until she’s writhing beneath me.
It’s too fucking much.
My hips buck forward, and Christ , one more stroke like that, and I’m done—and that’s unacceptable.
I curse under my breath and slip a hand between us, down the front of her panties, fingers sliding through her inviting slickness.
“Oh, this filthy little thing. She’s a bad girl, huh? Not coming when she’s supposed to.”
“Give her your dick, and she’ll sing opera.”
“Not yet, beautiful.”