Chapter Two #4
I’m being lifted, moved, rotated, and I start to fight on instinct, but he’s set me back on the edge of the table. Cold metal on my ass cheeks makes me squirm. The discomfort is forgotten when he thrusts his fingers back inside me. “One more.”
I scowl. “On your cock.”
“On my fingers,” he corrects. “And I better hear you this time.”
I open my mouth to complain, but he pulls my sweatshirt over my head and tugs my bra down. Mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like “Perfect fucking tits,” he nuzzles my breasts before swirling his tongue around one of my nipples.
Something snarky about being the boss is on the tip of my tongue, but it comes out nonsensical. With a pleased sound, he caresses, licks, and sucks my breasts until my back is arching, legs hooking tighter and tighter around him.
I want harder. More.
He lifts his lips from me long enough to order. “Louder.”
I listen, incapable of disobeying. He sucks harder, fingers working. I can’t keep it inside any longer. “Use your teeth, then.”
A rumble of satisfaction and then a sting of pain as he tugs one of my nipples between his teeth.
My hiss is more wildcat than human. Tangling my fingers in his hair, I grip him closer. “More,” I whine. “I need more.” I can’t bring myself to explicitly say what I need more of.
Pain.
I don’t have to have it, but I like it. The bite of hair being pulled, and how the sting of a spank becomes a dull ache.
Caine hears what I don’t ask for. Face crushed to my breast, fingers performing magic between my legs, he grabs my hair, right at the roots.
My head is tugged back, my chin angled up.
Sweet, decadent pain carries me into another orgasm.
I don’t know what I’m saying, but it isn’t quiet.
Caine releases my breast, but not the back of my head.
Faster than feels possible, he has the condom out, open, and sliding over his impressive girth.
Stroking himself, he gives me a heated look.
All sense of propriety is gone, my “Get inside me” coming out more snarl than sensual.
“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a twang in his voice I don’t have time to process. One hard snap of his hips steals my breath. An unholy sound slips between my teeth. So full. My legs are forced wide, my fingers clawing the tabletop. Caine stills, fully enveloped. “You with me?”
“Fuck yes.” The want in my voice will mortify me when I remember it tomorrow, but tonight I’m shameless.
My pussy is gripping and grabbing him, eager for more even as I adjust to the invasion.
“Make it hurt.” For a moment, I don’t recognize this bold person inhabiting my body.
Then I do. She’s me, before Nicholas and everything that came with him.
Back when wanting was simply wanting—morally neutral.
Caine hears me. Warm hands pull mine from the edge of the tabletop, settling them on his chest. For a fleeting moment, I think about asking him to take his shirt off. I want to dig my fingernails into the hard muscle, see if the tattoos on his arms extend all the way across his torso.
Caine pulls nearly out, then drives in so hard it forces all thoughts from my head.
The stretch, the sting, the way each thrust is so punishing I wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises on my inner thighs tomorrow: it’s heaven.
Eyes squeezed shut, I absorb every brutal movement, soaring in that rare quiet layer of my brain.
There’s no room for thinking, no room for worrying.
There’s only his hard, thick cock stroking deeper and deeper.
Rough hands gripping me painfully tight.
One tangling in my hair, the other pinching my nipple so hard I yelp.
“Eyes open.” It’s a demand, not a request.
I rejoin the world, and while it’s not the glorious free fall of my empty brain, the view is fantastic.
A thin sheen of sweat slicks Caine’s throat.
Jaw tight, every muscle taut, he fucks me like it’s life or death.
Dark and searching, his eyes aren’t the lust-drunk eyes of a man lost to his own pleasure.
He’s intent on me. I’m being cataloged, every gasp and grab of his T-shirt not merely witnessed, but noted.
Defying everything I know about myself, his gaze pushes me over the edge.
I come. Hard. A white-hot rush that goes beyond pleasure, thawing places I didn’t realize were frozen.
This doesn’t feel like release; it feels like resurrection.
“Fucking hell,” Caine groans. Hips bucking a frantic rhythm, he holds eye contact.
The feeling of him thickening and pulsing as he reaches his release only makes mine better.
I’ve barely finished writhing through the aftershocks of pleasure when anxiety hurries to ruin the moment.
What do I do now? knocks at the door to my brain, completely ruining my bliss.
Do I just leave?
Is this a handshake situation or a hug?
Shit.
The whole actually needing to have casual sex to learn the social expectations around hookups is going to be a pain. Mental reframe: This is an opportunity for growth.
Okay, deep breaths.
People hook up all the time.
Act like you do too.
He’ll never know.
Caine withdraws, knotting the condom and slipping it into his pocket. He wipes his hands on his jeans. I’m disturbed by the whole cross-contamination of it all, but it isn’t as if there’s a trash can in here.
I hop off the table, forgoing hunting for my thong in favor of flinging on my sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers firefighter fast. There’s a lump in the ankle of my pants that has to be my lost underwear, but I don’t stop to check.
“You in a hurry?” The picture of casual, Caine’s putting himself away as if making people see god in haunted house back rooms isn’t unusual for him. “I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
“I’m not much for kissing,” I lie. “Mouths are weird. Have you ever really looked at a tongue up close? That’s the sort of thing you could put in a haunted house, am I right?”
Lips quirked in a half smile, he watches me flail. “You okay?” Stepping toward me, he reaches for my hand. I gather my hair into a high ponytail to avoid having to navigate hand-holding.
The gentle way he asks the question suggests I’m not giving off the I have tons of casual sex vibe I’d hoped. Scrutiny flips a switch in my brain.
Showtime.
Deep breath.
Big smile.
I beam. “I’m great. It was so nice meeting you.”
He laughs, shaking his head slowly as if I puzzle him. “Thanks, I think. You too. Can I get your number? I’d love to take you out to dinner.”
Shit.
I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I don’t want to give out my number. When I was making my postdivorce to-do list, no relationships for at least a year was second only to get as far away from Texas as possible. “Thank you for asking, but I’d rather not.”
He startles as if I smacked him. Guilt swirls in my stomach. Caine drags a hand through his hair, his crooked grin almost making me go back on my no-number stance. “Fair enough.”
As we start toward the door, I feel like such a jerk. The apology explodes. “I’m sorry. It isn’t personal,” I blurt. “You seem very nice, I just don’t give it out. Or go out. I also realize that probably seems odd considering…” I gesture vaguely.
He pushes one of the bay doors open and follows me into the corridor leading to the main hall the staff uses to travel through the haunt.
Clutching his chest, he faux mutters under his breath, “She apologizes for not giving me her number, but not for saying stabbing me was incredibly hot.” Despite the playfulness of the quip, Caine’s face is serious when he turns to me at the entrance to the main staff space.
“No is enough. Don’t explain; don’t apologize.” A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not hard to find if you change your mind.”
An untrustworthy part of me loves that idea.
After my second awkward wave of the evening, I say goodbye and scurry into the night.
Out in the dark parking lot, subzero wind cuts straight through my clothing.
I regret not pulling off a more graceful exit, but not as much as I regret not putting my underwear back on in the alien room.
It’s not as if I think a no-show thong would do much good against the elements, but I’m up for anything that will keep me from having to WebMD search is it possible to get frostbite on your labia?
Cold twat or not, pride at completing my first hookup post-divorce fills me as I slide behind the wheel.
Considering the fact that the last time I attempted something outside of my sexual comfort zone, I tapped out before I even reached the sexual part, this is a win.
The full-body cringe I felt when I realized that while my employer, Shane, is a nice-looking man, I’m not actually sexually attracted to him will stay with me forever.
It would have been great if I’d figured that out before I volunteered to be his prey.
But after Nicholas mocked me for my interests, the possibility of trying a kink with someone who was so matter-of-fact about it seemed like the sort of opportunity I needed to jump on.
Turns out I jumped on the wrong brother.
Here’s hoping the whole them-being-brothers thing won’t come back to bite me in the ass.
Before I can let my brain belly flop into the deep end of the worry pool, I plug in my phone, tap the ’80s metal playlist, and turn it up.
I’m sure I’ll come up with a million more potential problems by tomorrow, but right now, I need to enjoy this positive: I survived my first hookup.