Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lacey
My throat burns, my eyes sting, and my knees ache from the rough carpet, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not with the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious he wants to ruin. Like I’m his.
With the way Aero is standing over me, I can’t be entirely sorry about today.
I’ve always loved to dance. Not just the movement, but the way men watch me when I do.
The way their eyes darken, their jaws clench, like I’m stirring every cardinal sin they’ve ever tried to resist. Like Aero is looking at me now.
I learned early on what men want, what they crave.
I learned how to read the heat in their gaze, how to give them what they needed, how to be what they needed but I’ve never felt more owned in my life than I do in this moment and God help me, I love it. I love him.
Aero’s grip tightens in my hair, and my body responds with a sharp, pulsing need. The heat of his skin, the dark, threatening rumble of his voice, God, it drives me wild. I give him everything he craves. My touch, my hunger, my mouth. I offer it willingly, wanting and needing it just as bad.
The way he sounds, hoarse and unhinged, barely holding himself together ignites something primal in me. I want more of that. More of him.
I tighten my lips over him, moaning as he pulses against the flick of my tongue. I love the way his breath catches, and how his muscles go taut, like he’s holding himself back. That’s the part that screws with my head. Because Aero doesn’t hold back. Not for anyone.
His hand fists tighter, and I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough and edged with restraint. The sound of it sends a jolt straight through me. My breath catches as heat floods low in my belly. I squeeze my thighs together, a weak attempt to soothe the throb that’s already there, pulsing with every heartbeat.
His release hits the back of my throat, and I swallow him down, the taste of him only stoking the fire that’s burning through me. “Look at you. Taking it like you were made for me.”
I look up at him from my knees, his predator stare is locked on mine, dark, hungry, possessive. His cock glistens with my spit, hot and rigid, pulsing like it’s nowhere near finished with me yet.
He drags his thumb across my jaw and tilts my head up higher. “You got something to say now, Bambola?”
I hate that name. I love that name. It makes my stomach flip every time he uses it.
I glare up at him, daring him to push harder, “You gonna finish what you started?” I’m burning alive with my need for him and I don’t want it to stop. “Or is that all you got?”
Aero pulls me up onto my shaky legs. I can feel the wet heat pooling between my thighs, my panties are soaked, my body clenching and aching for him.
His mouth crashes onto mine before I can catch my breath, his tongue sliding in deep, claiming me like he owns every inch. I moan into him, his body hard and hot, pressing against every part of me.
“I’m not done,” his breath claims the air from my lungs. “Not even close.”
He spins us, tossing me back on the mattress like he can’t wait another damn second. I land with a gasp.
He looms over me, one knee pressing into the mattress between my thighs as his hands grip the thin fabric of my dress. He yanks hard, ripping the dress in two, baring me completely to his hungry gaze. His breath hits my skin like fire, and I swear I melt even more.
“Now,” His gaze drags over my parted thighs. “You’re gonna take the rest, Bambola. Every damn inch until it registers in that pretty little head of yours. You’re mine, Bambola.”
I grab the collar of his cut and yank him back into me, crashing my mouth to his. He groans against my lips, biting down before deepening the kiss, and the force of it knocks my head back into the headboard but I don’t care.
His calloused hands roam down my sides, scraping across my skin and making me arch into him.
One hand slides up my back, unhooking my bra with a flick of his fingers before he pulls it off and tosses it aside.
His mouth follows the trail, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh as he hooks his thumbs in my panties and pulls them down slowly.
He strips me of everything, my clothes, my defiance, my walls.
When his mouth grazes across my collarbone, I realize I’ve never really belonged to anyone before. A soft whimper escapes my lips when he pulls away.
I blink up at him, breathless, my lips swollen, my heart pounding in my chest, “What…?”
“You feel that?” he grinds his hips against my belly, his cock thick and hard. “That’s what you do to me, Bambola.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He knows I feel it. He knows I want it.
He yanks off his cut and tosses it across the room. Then, reaching over his head, he pulls off his shirt slow enough for me to see the tension in every flex of muscle. I reach for his pants still nestled on his waist, but he grabs my wrist and pins it above my head again.
“Not yet,” he warns. “I want to taste what’s mine first.”
“Spread your legs,” he orders, his voice low and dirty, and I obey without hesitation. The air hits the slick heat between my thighs and I shiver, every nerve lit up, aching for his touch.
Then he kneels at the edge of the bed, dragging me to him by the hips. His gaze drops, his jaw tightening as he watches me. “You’re soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself.
My breath stutters as he lowers himself between my thighs and his mouth finds me. His fingers dig into my thighs, and when his mouth finally seals over my clit, I cry out, arching off the bed.
He licks and sucks with brutal precision, like he’s punishing me for making him want this so badly.
For making him need me. His tongue is merciless, slow and punishing.
Every stroke dragging me higher. I cry out, grinding against his face, but he pins my hips down, refusing to let me control the rhythm.
“Fuck, Lacey,” he growls against me. “You taste so good.”
I can’t hold back the sounds tearing from my throat, can’t stop the way I writhe beneath him.
Helpless and greedy, my hips buck toward his mouth like I’ll die if I don’t have more.
I’m panting, gasping, my skin slick with sweat, my thighs trembling around his head.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I’m coming apart and still somehow desperate for more.
I beg for it, mindlessly, breathlessly. My voice is barely more than a whimper, the kind of sound that would make me blush if I had any sense left in my body.
But I don’t. All I have is a hot, frantic unrelenting need.
My body is still twitching from the orgasm he just dragged out of me, but he doesn’t let up.
His tongue moves slower now, savoring me, like he’s memorizing every shudder, every pulse of my core, and it kills me.
I’m too raw, too open, but I want him there anyway.
I want him to fill the emptiness he’s created with his mouth, with his fingers, with the fire he’s lit in every corner of me.
When he finally rises, I can barely breathe. My chest is heaving. My pulse is racing. I reach for him, needing him inside me now, needing that final connection, but he catches my hand.
“You ready for the part where I ruin you?” he rasps.
I stare up at him standing above me like a god, shirtless, chest heaving, muscles tight and all I can do is nod, because there’s no part of me that doesn’t want this. I want him.
Even if it ruins me.
“Please.” I all but whimper.
That single word snaps his self control, sending Aero into the same frenzied hurry I am.
His belt hangs loose, the leather hissing as he yanks it the rest of the way free in one sharp pull.
It’s a warning I feel in my spine. He tosses it aside, the snap of leather still ringing in my ears as his hands go to his jeans.
One sharp shove and denim slides low over his hips, slow enough to make me squirm.
His underwear follows his gaze never breaking from mine.
He’s still in control, and making sure I know it.
I gave it to him the second I dropped to my knees.
He lowers over me, the heat of his skin brushing mine, and I feel the pulse of need in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. His hand wraps around himself, guiding the thick length of his cock to my entrance, and I feel the tip press into my already pulsing core.
He pushes in, slow and deliberate, and I swear the world shifts beneath me.
My body stretches to fit him, my back arches, and something inside me splinters wide open.
My hands wrap around his shoulders, clinging like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing that can hold me afloat.
He starts to move, rolling his hips slow and deep. God, I feel it everywhere.
His rhythm shifts, his hips snapping harder, and faster.
My hands claw at the sheets, my breath coming in ragged pants.
I’m so damn close I could scream, but I don’t.
Not yet. I hold it, feeling the pleasure building, fast and overwhelming, and I know he feels it too.
His jaw is clenched, his breath sharp against my cheek and then I shatter.
The pleasure explodes inside me, a hot, electric pulse that tears through every nerve ending. My back arches, my thighs trembling as a broken cry rips from my throat. His name is the only thing I can form, gasped and raw, as wave after wave crashes through me.
It’s always like this with us. He drives me straight off the edge and holds me there, completely undone. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. All I feel is him. Aero. My chaos. My calm. My punishment. My reward.
His hand slides down my leg and curls under my thigh, lifting it and hooking it around his waist, and suddenly he’s deeper. God, so much deeper, and I cry out against his mouth. He swallows my scream with tongue, teeth, and breath. His hips thunder into me with raw, unfiltered need.