Chapter 2 #2
I fist a hand in her hair and drag her mouth to mine.
The kiss is anything but gentle, all teeth, tongue, hunger.
She tastes like whiskey and rebellion, sharp edges that cut and burn in the best way.
She gasps into me, and I take the sound like it belongs to me, swallowing it down, deepening the kiss until she melts against my chest.
Her lips are swollen when I break the kiss, her breath short and uneven. She’s still straddling me, thighs braced against mine, but I can feel the hesitation creeping in under that bravado of hers.
I tip my head back just enough to look her dead in the eye.
“You’ve been staring at this chair all night like it’s in your way.
Let me make something clear—“ My hand slides higher, under her skirt, until my fingers find heat through thin lace. I press there, firm, watching her jolt. ”—the only limit in this room is how much of me you can take. ”
Her breath stutters, mouth parting, and for a second, she looks almost flustered. Then her nails scrape lightly against my shoulders like she’s reminding me she can give as good as she gets. “Big talk, cowboy.”
I grin, slow and sharp. “Sweetheart, I don’t talk big. I deliver.”
Before she can throw another jab, I hook an arm under her and shift, powering the chair back just enough to lock the brakes. Then I’ve got her flat on the bed in one practiced move, hovering over her, my weight braced on my good leg and one palm pressed into the mattress by her head.
Her eyes go wide—she wasn’t expecting that.
“Still think I can’t handle you?” I ask, voice low, a whisper against her cheek.
She swallows hard, the sound thick in the silence. Then, softer than I expect: “Prove it.”
I drag my mouth down her throat, tasting the shiver that runs through her. My fingers work the buttons of her blouse open, one by one, slow enough to make her squirm. Lace and skin peek through, and I can’t stop the sound that rumbles up from my chest.
Her hips arch, pressing against me, needy now, but I hold her there, pinning her with nothing but the weight of my hand on her stomach.
“Patience, gorgeous. I wanna savor this,” I murmur.
Her breath is ragged, blouse hanging open, lace bra peeking through. I pin her beneath me with one palm, while my other hand skims her thigh, dragging her skirt higher inch by inch. She squirms, restless, but I don’t give her the friction she’s hunting for. Not yet.
I roll the lace of her panties between my fingers before tugging the thin scrap of fabric down her hips, slow enough to make her legs twitch.
She tries to help, but I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand.
My mouth claims hers again, hard, stealing her frustration, until she’s gasping when I finally break away.
“You don’t get to rush me,” I tell her.
And then I slide down the bed, lips and stubble grazing her skin, from her chest to her stomach, until I’m right where she’s throbbing for me. I push her thighs apart, wide, and hook them over my shoulders.
She tenses. “Fuck!”
My tongue drags through her folds, slow, deliberate, tasting her, savoring the way her back arches off the bed. She cries out, sharp and startled, and I grip her thighs tighter, holding her exactly where I want her.
I feast on her like I’ve been starving, tongue circling her clit, dipping lower, back up again, every move calculated to wring another sound out of her. She thrashes, tries to close her legs, but I hold her wide, relentless.
“Holy mother of—“ Her voice breaks, and that’s when I know I’ve got her.
I flatten my tongue against her clit and suck, hard, while sliding two fingers deep inside her, curling just right until her hips buck. She’s soaked already, dripping down my hand, and I groan into her, the vibration making her sob out my name.
“You taste good,” I growl against her, thrusting my fingers deeper, tongue flicking her clit mercilessly.
She’s panting, begging now, the bravado stripped away. “Don’t stop, please.”
Her legs tremble around me, thighs clamping, and then she breaks, climax ripping through her with a cry that echoes in the room. I ride it out, licking and sucking until she’s wrung dry, until she shoves weakly at my head, oversensitive.
Only then do I pull back, chin slick, smirking up at her wrecked expression.
“That’s one,” I say, voice rough. “We’re just getting started.”
My clothes come off next, and I’m back to hovering over her, my fist wrapped around my dick, my other hand supporting my weight.
She lies back, wide-eyed, as I drag the head of my cock through her slick folds, teasing, coating myself in her wetness. She gasps, hips chasing, desperate for more, but I hold back, enjoying the way she squirms.
“Please,” she whimpers, clawing at my shoulders.
That’s all I need. I slam into her in one hard thrust, burying myself to the hilt. Her scream tears through the room, high and broken, and I bite back a groan, the stretch and heat of her nearly undoing me right there.
“Christ, you’re tight,” I grit, holding still just long enough to feel her flutter around me.
Her hands grip my back, nails digging deep. “I need you to move.”
So I do. Hard, relentless strokes that make the bedframe creak, every thrust forcing another cry from her lips. I angle my hips, grinding deeper, hitting the spot that makes her gasp like she’s shocked I found it.
“Right there,” she chokes out.
I smirk, pinning her wrists above her head again, pounding into her harder, faster, sweat dripping down my temples. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, filthy and raw.
She’s writhing beneath me, undone, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper. I bite at her collarbone, leaving marks I know she’ll see tomorrow. She clenches around me, orgasm tearing through her again. She shakes beneath me, body milking my cock.
I slam into her one last time, spilling deep, shuddering as the climax rips through me, every muscle straining. I grind against her, emptying myself, until I finally collapse against her back, breath harsh, body trembling with the aftershocks.
She’s limp beneath me, skin slick, hair damp, and I don’t move for a long moment. Just hold her there, both of us wrecked, the room heavy with sweat and sex.
She collapses onto the mattress first, boneless, her hair a mess of damp strands across her face. I drag myself beside her, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing, rough and uneven.
Her breath evens out, almost like she’s drifting already, and I lie there staring at the ceiling, unsettled. I don’t even know her name, but I already know I’ll remember her.
Hell. I already know she’s trouble.