Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Hands on the wall
Carina
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to go.”
His question feels absurd when my body is already leaning into him, when my thighs are shaking, and every nerve in me is screaming for friction.
Reid’s hand flexes at my hip, his chest rising and falling, lips parted, and eyes locked on mine as if he’s giving me a final chance to pull this back.
But I want the opposite. I want to give up control. I want to remove everything running through my brain apart from how good he makes me feel.
“I want you to fuck me.”
The words come out throatier than I expect, as though they’ve been lodged behind my ribs for weeks, trying to get free. And once they’re out, I don’t want to take them back. I don’t want to pretend anymore.
His eyes flick down to my mouth, then lower.
“You’re sure.”
“Reid,” I whisper, pulling his attention back to mine by the collar of his shirt. “I’m so fucking sure.”
And that’s all it takes. He’s on me again, crushing his mouth to mine and hands everywhere—jaw, ribs, hips—like he can’t decide what part of me to grab first. His tongue drags against mine, and I moan into it as he presses me firmer against the wall, his knee nudging harder against my pussy.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he mutters against my mouth. “How you’d taste. How you’d sound. How fucking wet you’d be for me.”
I can’t breathe, can’t think. My hands grapple at his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering me upright as his mouth drops to my throat, sucking a mark just below my ear. And when he grinds against me, I swear I see stars.
“Take me to bed,” I manage to croak. “Please.”
He pulls back, eyes blown wide.
“You sure you don’t want to keep dry-humping my knee against the wall?”
“If you don’t fuck me properly in the next five minutes,” I whisper, “I’m gonna climb your injured leg and do it myself.”
He lifts me clean off the floor, and my legs lock around his waist as he makes his way down the hall. I nod toward my bedroom, and when we enter, he heads to the bed and drops me onto it with a soft thud.
I huff a laugh and push up on my elbows, watching as he takes a full step back, just long enough to assess me. He looks like a man ready to devour, eyes locked on mine as he undoes each of his shirt buttons with a kind of restrained violence.
His shirt slowly starts opening, and fuck, he’s so much man, I forget how to breathe.
Broad shoulders. A sculpted chest with a dusting of dark hair. A black ink tattoo wraps up his ribcage on the left, sweeping over his side like a wave crashing up his torso. His skin is flushed and tight across muscle, and I can see the way his abs contract as he flicks open the last button.
I can’t stop staring and lick my lips without meaning to.
“You like what you see?”
“Obviously,” I breathe, watching as he kicks off his shoes, eyes on mine the entire time.
“You’re still wearing too much,” he says, voice low.
I nod, rising to stand in front of him, my hand reaching for the zip on the back of my dress.
“Wait.”
Something shifts in his face as I follow his order, and he nods toward the wall beside him.
“Turn around,” he says. “Hands on the wall.”
I do as I’m told, placing both palms flat against the wall, my spine straight but heart pounding at the command in his voice.
He steps behind me, mouth tickling hot at my ear. “Don’t move.”
Rough, warm fingertips trail over the back of my neck, caressing down the slope between my shoulders until he reaches the zipper of my dress and drags it down in one slow motion.
I shiver at the feel of it—the sound, the precision.
His knuckles graze my bare back as he lowers it to the base of my spine.
“Fuck, Carina,” he mutters, hands skimming my sides as he notes the lack of a bra. “You’re beautiful.”
He pushes the dress down over my hips, and it pools at my feet. I’m standing there in nothing but black lace panties, hands still on the wall, pulse hammering in my throat.
The warmth of his breath skirts along my shoulders, and I can feel his gaze crawling down my back, but he doesn’t touch me.
“Turn back,” he says.
I follow the command, swiveling slowly on the spot to find him in front of me. The clink of metal fills the room, mingling with the sound of our breath as he unbuckles his belt, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time.
I watch as his pants drop to the floor, and I suck in a sharp breath as he stands in his boxers, completely at ease.
He steps sideways, gesturing to the bed, and he crowds me as I walk backward, until my thighs hit the bed and I drop to the mattress, eyes raised toward his.
It’s all I can do not to drop to my knees and peel his boxers off with my teeth.
Instead, I watch as he lowers them, and his cock springs free, curving heavy and proud against his abdomen.
For a second, all I can do is stare. It’s thick, hard, and pierced—three silver bars down the underside, glinting at me. I’m already imagining how they’re going to feel inside me, how they’re going to stretch and drag against me.
“Holy fuck.”
He smirks. “You forgot about the ladder?”
“No,” I murmur. “I just didn’t realize how fucking hot it would be in person.”
He hums, peeling his watch off with one hand and dropping it onto my dresser, and I watch the muscles in his back ripple as he turns back to me.
I’m still staring as his eyes trail down over my body, and then he moves. I don’t even have time to react—he grabs the backs of my thighs, lifts me, and lays me out across the bed like I weigh nothing.
“Birth control?” he asks.
“I’m on the pill.”
“I get tested regularly.”
“I wanna feel it,” I whisper, leaning up on my elbows. “All of it.”
He groans a curse.
“So fucking glad I got those piercings back in. Would’ve hated to disappoint the surgeon who made me take them out.”
I grin, but it’s only for a second before his mouth is back on mine, pressing me down into the mattress, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.
His other hand trails down between my legs and cups me through my panties, rumbling at the dampness he finds there.
“Christ, Havoc, you’re soaked already. You’re begging for it.”
His hand leaves my wrists, but I leave them there, resting above my head as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of my underwear and drops to his knees, dragging them off me. Then he kisses the inside of my ankle, then my knee, then my thigh.
I nod, barely coherent. “Please, Reid.”
“Please what?”
“Touch me.”
He doesn’t wait, gliding his palm up my inner thigh and gently sliding two thick fingers into me, crooking them deep while his thumb circles my clit. I arch, legs falling wide open for him as I moan.
“You like it like this?” he murmurs. “Being spread out and devoured?"
“God, yes.”
His mouth moves down, lips hot and mustache tickling the delicate skin of my hip. He drags his lips up my ribs while he continues finger fucking me, and sucks one nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing gently. The whimper that leaves me is downright sinful.
“Tell me what else you like,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back.”
“I… I like being told what to do.”
He hums, his head moving back down my body. “I figured… What else?”
I gasp when he slowly removes his fingers and sucks them into his mouth, eyes on mine.
“I like it rough,” I breathe.
His eyes flare, still on mine as he lowers his mouth, tongue darting out and licking a stripe up my pussy. “Keep going.”
I’m barely keeping it together, my eyes rolling back as his tongue swirls my clit, the brush of his mustache against my pussy feeling otherworldly as his fingers slide back in.
“I like spanking,” I moan, writhing under him.
“Yeah?”
“Pull my hair. Grab my throat and tie me up.”
His whole body tightens, and his mouth pauses. “Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t hold back,” I add, breath ragged. “I want you to ruin me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling back just long enough to lock eyes with me. “Say that again.”
I whimper, hips rising off the bed as he drags his tongue flat over my clit, lips closing around it with just enough suction to make me gasp.
“Ruin me,” I whimper again. “Please, Reid. I need it.”
He growls something filthy against my pussy, and then he’s devouring me. Tongue and fingers and stubble all working in perfect sync, as though he’s starving and I’m the only thing that will ever satisfy him. His fingers drive deeper, curling until I cry out, and his mouth—God, his mouth.
There’s no easing or backing off. He just locks in and stays there, tongue flicking and dragging and flattening in relentless rhythm until I’m a panting, writhing mess beneath him.
“Reid—fuck—fuck, don’t stop—”
My thighs start to shake, and he tightens his grip, his free arm locked low across my hips to keep me still as he buries his face deeper.
“You’re gonna come for me like this,” he rasps, voice rough and reverent against my skin. “I’m not fucking you until I’ve made you come on my tongue.”
My moan is high and broken, barely able to form words. “Please. Please—I’m so close—”
“Good girl,” he rumbles. “Give it to me.”
He doesn’t stop. Not when I start to whimper, not when I cry out his name. And when I come, it’s all-consuming.
My body locks tight around his fingers, my vision sparks at the edges, and he groans deep into my pussy. I’m twitching under his mouth, wrung out and trembling, whimpering from overstimulation.
He lifts his head, lips slick and mustache damp, eyes dark with something bordering on reverent possession. I’ve barely caught my breath, my limbs are loose and shaking, my brain soft and fuzzy. But that’s exactly how I like it.
And I want more. I need more.
“That’s one,” he says, voice rumbling like thunder as he drags two fingers through my pussy, then reaches up to press them to my lips. “Suck.”
I open without hesitation, eyes on his as my tongue swirls around my taste on his fingers, then he draws them out and leans in, kissing me deep.
“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.” He sits back. “Now I’m gonna fuck you.”