Chapter 26 Sorrel
Sorrel
His breath scorches my throat, rough and possessive, but then his mouth crashes back onto mine. This isn’t a kiss... it’s ownership.
And I eat it up.
Take me.
Claim me.
His tongue sweeps past my lips, demanding, tasting me like I’m water and he’s been dying of thirst for years.
I whimper into him, arching as his teeth drag over my bottom lip, and he bites just hard enough to make my hips jerk.
The scrape of his stubble burns my skin, rough and raw against the softness of my jaw.
I can smell him now... woodsmoke and sweat and that dark, expensive cologne clinging to his sweater. ..
I’m trembling, aching. I can’t help myself. My hands slide into the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants, where I rolled and folded the fabric so it could cling to my hips. My fingers dive lower, past the thin barrier of my cotton panties.
Fuck.
I’m already soaked. I circle my clit, slow at first, then faster, the heel of my palm grinding against myself as heat spirals up my spine. A moan rips out of me, ragged and loud against his mouth.
“Don’t.”
Gregory breaks the kiss, his voice a guttural command. His eyes are pure midnight: dark blue and dilated, predatory.
He catches my wrist, yanking my hand away out of my underwear. “I said stop.”
His palm replaces mine, but it’s over the sweatpants, right where I’m throbbing. The fabric is thick, but his pressure is brutal and perfect.
He rubs slow, deliberate circles, and keeps his gaze locked on mine as I gasp.
“You don’t touch yourself unless I say so,” he growls. “This is mine.”
God.
The friction is electric. Every stroke causes sparks to erupt across my vision. My thighs clamp around his hand, greedy, chasing the rhythm. He pins me against the floor, leaning in to lick the sweat from my collarbone.
“Feel that?” His thumb presses harder, dragging the damp fabric against my clit. “You’re dripping for me.”
I’m unraveling. The heat’s rising in my core. Rising. Rising.
Oh.
Fuck--
Right there--
Don’t stop--
My thoughts blur into sensation: the rough denim of his jeans against my bare thigh, his teeth on my earlobe, the relentless pressure between my legs.
“Please, Gregory, please...” I’m begging now, but it’s just noise--
My hips buck, out of control.
I’m so close.
The white-hot tension coils low in my belly, ready to snap.
He feels it, too, and his breath hitches.
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes open. His stare is fire.
But just as my back arches, trembling on the edge--
He tears his hand away.
Silence.
Empty.
A cruel, hollow ache.
I collapse against the floor, gasping, shaking.
Unfinished.
Ruined.
Gregory steps back, wiping his palm on his jeans. His eyes are dark blue pools of want.
“Good girl,” he rasps. “Now strip for me. Slowly.”
I haven’t even recovered, I just stare at him blankly for several seconds, my pussy cruelly throbbing with need.
The words finally register.
Strip.
Slowly.
Oh of course slowly.
With Gregory, it always has to be a whole production.
He takes a comfortable seat on the floor in front of me.
“Strip,” he repeats.
Oh God.
But I do as he asks.
I stand, pull off his hoodie first, the one I’ve been living in. Then my thermal layer. The bra. By the time I’m standing there topless, my hands are shaking.
“All of it,” he commands.
I shimmy out of my leggings and underwear, so that I’m completely naked while he’s fully dressed, sitting there on the floor in front of me like a king on his throne.
His eyes are level with my peaked nipples, his thighs like tree trunks spread beneath me, his shoulders blocking out the firelight. Even seated, he dominates.
His gaze drags over my breasts, his eyes darkening as my nipples tighten under his scrutiny.
“Stay still.” His command vibrates through my bones.
Then he leans in--
Holy fuck.
His mouth feels like wildfire on my soaking clit. There are no tentative licks. He literally devours.
His tongue transforms from broad and flat to pointed and ruthless, mapping every swollen fold.
I gasp, digging my fingers into his shoulders.
The wet, sucking sounds he’s making between my legs echo in the massive room.
He groans against me, and I feel the vibration ricochet up my spine.
“Gregory--” I plea.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips and chin glistening. “Hands behind your back.”
I obey.
I press my palms to the small of my back. The posture thrusts my breasts forward, arches my back, and bares me to him completely.
His approval is a dark hum before his mouth seals over me again.
God--
Right--
There.
He laps like I’m his last meal. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise. The inevitable heat starts to rise in my core again, and my thighs shake.
Yes--
Please--
Almost.
He stops.
Air rushes into my lungs.
Cruel emptiness throbs between my legs.
WHAT.
“Not yet.” He sits back, wiping my wetness from his chin.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Very.” He actually smiles. “You can lower your hands.”
I grip his shoulders again, panting. “That’s just cruel.”
“That’s just beginning.” He leans in again.
This time his fingers plunge inside me while his tongue flicks my clit.
In and out. In and out.
Brutal.
Fast.
Relentless.
And then his fingers stop, resting inside me, only to curl repeatedly against that sweet spot.
While his tongue focuses on my clit.
I’m sopping, dripping down his wrist. The heat is expanding outward from my core, reaching all the way to my extremities.
My toes curl.
Close--
So close--
Fuck fuck--
And yet again he stops.
Tears away.
I sob. “Why?!”
“Beg,” he commands.
“Please,” I whimper. Not even embarrassed anymore. “Gregory, please. Let me cum.”
He studies me a moment, his own eyes dark with need. But he doesn’t move.
Finally, he inserts his fingers. Slowly. And he starts to curl them again, building up the heat inside me once more.
He leans forward. His tongue circles my clit with perfect pressure. His teeth graze.
More.
More.
I shamelessly start to grind against him.
He wants me to face fuck him?
Fine. I’ll face fuck him.
Yes.
There it is.
There--
There--
There--
Now--
He stops.
I break. “PLEASE! Let me cum! I’ll-- I’ll do anything-- please--”
“Good girl.” He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks.
Hard.
My cunt throbs with white heat and I cum so hard I see stars.
“GREGORY!”
My core clenches repeatedly.
My knees buckle, but he catches me, pulling me down into his lap while I’m still shaking through the aftershocks.
“That’s one,” he murmurs against my ear.
One?
ONE?
He releases me, and stands on the blankets. “On your hands and knees.”
Oh God.
I position myself, and the vulnerability of it makes my whole body flush. I can hear him undressing behind me.
I turn, bracing on hands and knees.
I’m going to watch.
Gregory rises. His movements are slow, predatory.
He peels off his sweater. The fabric snags on his huge biceps before yielding. Then he removes the thermal layer underneath.
That chest.
God.
All hard planes, with that dark trail of hair leading into his jeans. Those carved obliques, forming a V that I always want to run my tongue down.
The firelight licks the sweat on his shoulders, and my mouth waters as I remember that salt-skin taste.
His jeans go next. He pops the button. Drags the zipper down. He peels the denim down hips, revealing the straining bulge beneath his briefs. He hooks thumbs in waistband. Slides everything down.
His cock springs free. Thick. Veined. Angry-red tip glistening with a bead of pre-cum.
Mine.
My pulse hammers between my thighs, wanting so badly to take him in.
He lets his pants pool on the floor and steps out of them. Then he bends over to fish a condom out of his jeans. His thick, huge cock snags against his sweater on the floor, and when it jerks free, there’s a connecting string of pre-cum hanging down.
God. So hot.
He rips the condom foil, then rolls it down his length with slow, seductive movements. I’m mesmerized. I couldn’t look away if I wanted. My eyes are just glued to that juicy, throbbing cock.
When he’s done, he wraps his huge fingers around himself and a groan rumbles in his chest. Watching those broad palms with their corded forearms grip himself?
Fuck.
Wetness floods me anew.
Need him.
Now.
Inside me.
I’m still kneeling before him, and his gaze catches mine. The hunger in those eyes flares.
Then his hands are on my hips.
“Tell me you trust me,” he says, positioning himself at my entrance.
“I trust you.” My voice comes out breathy, desperate. “Always.”
He enters me slowly, and god, the angle. I can feel every inch of him, the stretch and fullness making me gasp.
“Okay?” he asks, stilling.
“Move,” I beg. “Please--”
He does.
He sets a measured, torturous pace, one massive hand splayed between my shoulder blades and pressing me down until my cheek grinds against the rough wool blankets, my ass arched high and exposed to him.
The position steals my breath, and I feel so utterly owned that my cunt clenches around him reflexively, greedy for more.
Wetness slicks my inner thighs, and I can actually smell the musk of my arousal thick in the air between us.
Fuck--
Yes--
Deeper--
My thoughts are starting to fracture as he adjusts his angle, the thick crown of his cock dragging against that swollen, desperate place inside my walls.
Every thrust sparks lightning up and down my spine.
I bite the blanket to stifle a scream. The fabric feels rough against my tongue.
His free hand grips my hipbone so hard I know his fingertips are bruising the flesh but I don’t care.
He pounds me relentlessly.
Ohgodohgod--
There--
There--
My hips jerk, trying to force him deeper, but his palm on my back pins me like a butterfly.
I hear the relentless slap of skin on skin, the guttural groans torn from his chest with each thrust.
I feel the heat of him splitting me open, and fire pools low in my belly, squeezing tighter--
Tighter--
Close--
So close--
He stops.