Remy

33. Olivia

OLIVIA

Remy’s expressionis feral as he shoves the jagged piece of glass into the man’s throat, his victim choking and gurgling after impact.

I gasp, trying to reconcile what I’m seeing.

I’d stayed in the car like he’d asked.

I’d stalked the rearview and side mirrors, trying to gain a glimpse of him while I panicked over what might be happening. Then the gunshot sounded and I freaked.

I turned off the car’s interior light and used every ounce of stealth I had to slowly and carefully climb from the car without making a sound. And now I stand in the middle of the gravel road, frozen as Remy’s gaze snaps to mine.

“Ollie…” His voice is raw.

I can’t speak.

Beneath the glow of the moonlight, I see it all—his gloved hand, the pooling blood.

I’ve tried to imagine him like this so many times. To envision the brutality. The confident ease with which he takes a life.

For some reason, I could never fully craft the image.

Yet now it’s here. In dark and sinister shades under the glow of a late spring moon.

I wait for disgust to grip me by the throat. For horror to take hold.

Nothing latches its claws around me. At least nothing malevolent.

There’s only overwhelming relief.

He’s alive.

I’m alive.

“It’s okay.” He slowly lowers the dead man’s head and retreats from the sedan, holding his gloved hands up in surrender. “You can take the car. I won’t chase you. I just want you to think rationally and get somewhere safe.”

Take the car? Chase me?

“I don’t understand,” I whisper.

“They had to die, Pyro.”

I shake my head. That’s not what I meant.

I understand that he did what was needed. I’m not naive. This is who he is. How he works.

“Go.” He juts his chin toward the Escalade. “Get back to your dad. I won’t follow.”

He won’t follow? He thinks I want to run from him?

“I’m not going anywhere.” I start forward, slowly at first, but with each step the compounding waves of adrenaline build.

I need to touch him. Hold him.

I want to feel with my own hands that he’s all right. That there are no bullet holes or stab wounds.

“What are you doing?” He yanks off his gloves and throws them against the sedan’s hood, then hesitantly walks for me.

I’m jogging in my Jimmy Choos by the time he reaches the road, my dress swishing around my ankles, my heart clogging my throat.

“Ollie, no,” he warns. “There’s glass.”

I don’t care. I don’t give a damn if there are nails or spikes or lava. I keep running for him, and he keeps striding toward me until we’re feet apart and I’m launching myself at his chest.

He catches me, his strong hands gripping my hips as I wrap my legs around his waist, a mass of dress material pooled between us.

He’d been hesitant to kiss me in the bar, but I no longer have the sense to consider his reluctance. I palm his jaw and slam my mouth to his, all smashed lips and gasped breaths.

He doesn’t deny me.

Instead he groans into the contact, his fingers digging at the flesh of my hips, his tongue demands entry to my mouth.

I can’t get enough.

Not of the kiss. Not of his touch. Not of him.

I clench my thighs tighter around him as he walks us toward the Escalade, his men making rustling noises and murmuring in the distance.

“You’re safe.” He speaks against my lips. “I’ve got you.”

“I was worried.” I glide my fingers into his hair. “I heard the gunshot and?—”

His tongue rakes over mine, deepening the kiss, increasing the relief.

I match him stroke for stroke, raking my fingers through his hair, tightening my hold around him.

But I still need more.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

He takes us to the passenger side of his car, pressing me back against the cool metal of the door. “There’s only one part of me that’s aching, and it’s got nothing to do with the Irish.”

I lean into the Escalade and tilt my pelvis against him with a groan.

I can feel the length of where he aches. So incredibly hard and big beneath his pants.

He grinds into me with a moan, the sound of his need undoing me.

“You should’ve stayed in the car,” he mutters into my mouth.

“I couldn’t see you.” I inch my head back to meet his gaze, but he shifts his mouth to my cheek, starting a trail of heated kisses toward my neck. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Instead of leaning down, he grabs my waist, hitching me higher against the side of the car so his lips can continue the heavenly path lower, over my collarbone, across my sternum.

My thighs burn with the tight grip around him. I didn’t know if we’d ever get here again. Heated and panting. But this is a million times hotter than my daydreams.

He’s hungered and rabid. All hard muscle, hummed groans, and possessive hands, his kisses scorching, his touch electric.

He finds the small scar on my chest, licking, nipping. “You’re going to have to stop me, Ollie. I can’t do it on my own.”

I moan at the tingles invading my body. “Never.”

He hitches me higher, his face coming in line with the top of my bodice. I straddle his ribs as he tugs at the neckline of my dress, his heavy body holding me in place.

He bends the boning, exposing my naked breasts, palming them gently.

“Fuck.” He stares at me like I’m a wonder of the world. “No bra.”

“I didn’t have one appropriate for the dress.”

“And for that I’m thankful.” The words barely reach my ears before his mouth is back on me, those pleasuring lips scorching a trail from my cleavage to my nipple, sucking the tightened flesh until it burns.

I cry out, my hips bucking into him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs between licks. “I’ve dreamed of this. I haven’t stopped.”

“Me, too.” I’m already incredibly wet and achy. I don’t know how I’ll ever get enough.

“Stop me, Ollie.” He releases my bodice and hitches me higher, his face in line with my stomach, then my abdomen, his nose nuzzling along the fabric as if he’s entranced.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He lifts me high enough that I can rest my elbows against the roof of the car for support, his palm sliding beneath my dress to guide one leg, then the other, over his shoulders.

“Hold the material.” He kisses the inside of each thigh, the contact scorching as he palms my ass. “I want to see you.”

I comply with a shudder, teetering on my elbows, caught between manic lust and tumultuous nerves as I raise the heavy skirt to pool at my stomach.

He plants another press of lips to one inner thigh, then the other, his predatory gaze staring between my legs.

“I can fucking smell your lust.” He groans.

My breath catches as his thumbs skim the elastic crotch of my panties, then shift straight down my center.

I whimper, arching into him.

His stubble scrapes my sensitive skin as he slowly creeps his mouth toward my core, planting more kisses, inching my legs apart.

My pulse thunders in my throat, the anticipation creating an inferno in my veins until the hot heat of his breath is tormenting me through the lace. He pauses, his eyes meeting mine.

“Stop me, Pyro.”

I stare at him, his gaze wild yet slightly pleading. “I’ll never want to stop you.”

Viciousness takes over his features. Then his mouth is on me, his hot tongue licking through the lace.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I can already taste you.”

My pussy flutters. The rest of my body follows suit.

I pant as he laps at me through my underwear, the strokes of his tongue coming harder, faster.

“Remy, please.” I rake a hand into his hair, pulling at the strands.

I need more.

He inches back, and I almost cry in protest. But then his fingers grip the lace at my crotch and savagely rip the thin material apart.

I jolt with the brutality. Whimper with renewed greed.

He looks at my pussy through the moonlight. Stares intently.

I’ve never been so vulnerable, and alive, and mindless, and obsessed.

“You fucking glisten, Ollie.” He strokes a thumb down my core, making me feel how incredibly wet I am.

Then his mouth is on me. His tongue in me.

“Oh, God.” I throw my head back, closing my eyes to the blissful onslaught.

He growls, kissing, lapping, sucking.

His tongue is everywhere, raking over my clit, sliding down my core.

He feasts and I savor the devouring, his jaw scratching responsive skin, his lips destroying my virtue.

I don’t care that we’re at a crime scene. That his men are yards away. Or how dead bodies litter the outskirts of this fantasy.

All I care about is him.

That he’s mine.

“I want to feel you come on my face.” He speaks against my pussy. “Make me a happy man, Pyro.”

“Then keep going.” My fingers claw into the material around my waist as I relax my arms and rest back against the roof. “I’m already close.”

He kisses my mound, ending the sweetness with a harsh scrape of teeth. “That’s my good girl.”

Oh, God.

I shudder, the vibration turning into a tremor as he swoops back in and sucks harshly on my clit.

I cry out. Shocked. Stunned.

It feels so good.

I’m senseless from the onslaught when something presses against my opening. A thumb? A finger?

He pushes it inside me, my pussy instantly clamping down on the penetration with greedy want.

“You’re fucking tight.” He keeps sucking on my clit as the intrusion creeps farther inside me, pressing down, slowly circling.

I can’t stop the sounds that escape me. The needy sighs. The hungry mewls.

“Does that feel good?” The vibration of his voice only adds to the deliciousness.

I moan in answer.

“How good?” He sucks harder, making me squirm.

“I’m… dying.” My voice is barely audible. Nothing but a panting, breathy rasp.

His thumb retracts. Two fingers take its place.

I moan, squeezing my thighs around his neck.

“Rock your hips, Ollie. Ride my fucking mouth.”

I release one hand from the pool of material and reach between my thighs to snatch at his hair, grinding, riding.

He groans. “Don’t stop.”

I whimper at the tightening build of my core. “I’m close.” My voice is frantic, foreign to my own ears.

He curls his fingers inside me, hitting a spot I’ve never felt before.

It’s raw and blinding. A burst of exquisite delight.

My back arches as my core spasms, the tingling euphoria expanding through my abdomen.

“That’s it,” he coaxes against my clit. “Come around my fingers.”

I whimper with the waves of pleasure. Shuddering. Unravelling. It’s burst after burst of paradise, the rapture numbing my fingers and curling my toes until the orgasmic clenching begins to lessen.

I slowly float down from the high, my body spent and lax. I release his hair, my legs losing their death grip around his neck.

Then I’m sliding. Descending.

He gently guides me back down the side of the car, his body pressed close to mine to keep me upright.

He peers at me with hunger. With awe. “You taste like the sweetest sin, Pyro.” He leans in, nuzzling my neck, the scent of my pleasure on his skin sinking into my lungs as he helps to right the long lengths of my dress.

All I can do is smile into the bliss.

I understand adrenaline is playing its part. That I’ll look back on this in a different light. But for now I’m putty in his hands. A slave at his alter.

“You were right,” I whisper, gliding my fingers to his waistband. “The locals wouldn’t have appreciated you doing that in front of the bar.”

His snicker brushes my skin, lightly tickling.

I still want more.

I glide my hands to the buckle of his belt and tug at the leather strap.

“No.” He stiffens, his fingers clamping tight around mine. “We need to get out of here in case the cops are on the way.”

The rejection is more subtle than it was the first time in his penthouse, but it hurts all the same.

The giddy perfection flees my body.

He weaves an arm around my waist, inching me sideways, allowing him the room to open the passenger door.

“I have to speak to my men.” He guides me inside, helping to drag on my seat belt as if I’m a child in need of parental assistance, or more accurately—a virgin he’s now placing a barrier in front of. “I won’t take long.”

I remain stunned as he closes the door, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my tattered pride in private.

I don’t understand. Why can he go down on me on the side of a back road with his men nearby, but me reaching for his belt buckle goes against some sick sort of terms of service?

It doesn’t make sense.

I want this.

Want him.

It’s not fair.

Minutes later, he climbs into the driver’s seat while I try not to sulk.

I remain stiffly defiant while he does a three-point turn and travels back past the car wreck where his men carry the driver’s limp body from the vehicle.

“What will happen to the crime scene?” I murmur.

“Russo and Valenti will make sure the bodies disappear.”

“And the car?”

“They’ll torch it.”

The flame reference takes me back to the way his mouth felt between my thighs. How my body burned.

We fit perfectly.

No one could convince me otherwise.

“How did they get here so fast?” I breathe through the building sadness, trying to distract myself.

“They followed us from Baltimore. They’ve been here the whole time.” He shoots me a glance. “I wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”

Merely unsatisfied.

I sigh, hating the animosity that festers. “Tell me why I can’t touch you.”

He returns his attention to the road. “You want to talk about this now, while we’re trying to dodge the authorities?”

“Yes.”

His jaw clenches, and for a few silent moments I think he’s going to deny me. “Ollie, I had you pressed up against a dirty car after I’d just killed two men while my employees were nearby, organizing how to dispose of the bodies. Is that really how you want to lose your virginity?”

“So given different circumstances you would’ve slept with me?”

His nostrils flare.

“Remy?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Goddamn you.” I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline, the rejection, or the culmination of the last few months catching up with me, but I’m done with undisclosed information. “I can’t keep doing this. You reel me in only to spit me out. Why are you so offended by my virginity?”

His fingers flex against the steering wheel as he speeds along the darkened road. “Nothing about you offends me. Never has. Never will.”

“Is it because you think I won’t be any good at it?”

“No,” he snarls. “I already know you’ll be equally flawless in fucking me as you are in everything else you do. But wanting you is dangerous. I’m teetering on the edge of my restraint when it comes to us.”

“Why restrain yourself at all? It’s obvious we both want this.”

“Why?” He huffs a faint laugh. “Because in that bar, when you were about to walk away, I fucking kissed you.” His eyes turn to mine in annoyance. “There was a threat in the next booth. I knew they wanted to kill me, and still I turned my back to the danger because you make me so messed up I was willing to pay the price.”

I stare, humbled and heartbroken.

I understand what he’s saying. I can even agree with it. But there has to be more.

“Then why kiss me again?” I ask. “Why do what you did against the car?”

I find it hard to say it—he went down on me.

He placed his mouth between my thighs and unraveled my soul one tightly wound string at a time.

“I know there’s more to it,” I whisper. “You have a problem with my virginity. You’ve said it before. You can’t deal with my lack of experience.”

He pauses at the intersection leading onto the highway, his eyes cutting to mine for a hard glance before he takes the turn. “It’s not you.”

“Do you expect me to believe that when?—”

“Yes, I expect you to fucking believe it because it’s the truth.” His voice raises. “Your virginity isn’t the issue. It’s me being the one claiming it. I won’t take that from you. Not after what my parents did to me.”

My heart stutters. Falters. “What they did?”

“Yes. They fucked me up more than you can imagine. So believe me when I say I’m the one who holds all the blame.”

A lump builds in my throat. “Will you tell me?”

“I’ve already told you enough about my genetic contributors to leave you scarred for life.”

“Yet I’m still here, begging for more. Doesn’t that mean something?”

He huffs an indignant breath.

“Please, Remy. I hold so many of your secrets—why not this one?”

He swipes a rough hand over his five o’clock shadow while the headlights of an oncoming car approach and then pass. “I’m protective of your virginity, Ollie, because the reminder of losing mine makes me fucking ill.”

I turn cold.

“It’s not that big a deal.” His demeanor says otherwise. “Dear ol’ dad wanted to make a man out of me, and given his lacking parenting skills he thought making his fifteen-year-old sleep with a stripper was a great idea.”

My hand climbs to my throat. “He forced you?”

“I was a teenage boy. It’s not like I wasn’t itching to get laid, but?—”

“But he forced you.”

His fingers squeak against the steering wheel. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were at night when all the young, pretty college students are out working the clubs, but I’d cut school because I didn’t study for an English exam, and the only women taking stage during those hours were middle-aged and strung out.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting to keep my horror contained.

“Your first time sticks with you. You’ll look back on it. You’ll remember it for the rest of your life. And sharing that moment with someone like me, in my line of work—” He shakes his head with adamance. “I won’t do that to you.”

Air hits my lungs with a bite of pain.

Why didn’t I already assume his restraint was for my benefit?

It’s always been for me.

When he threatened to leave Lorenzo’s employ. When he broke my father’s trust. When he arranged this weekend away with the impressive house, the beautiful dress, and a fully booked restaurant.

All. For. Me.

“I’m sorry I pushed for that information.” My voice is brittle. “I can’t imagine?—”

“Christ, don’t fucking imagine it. It’s bad enough that the memory won’t fade.” He stares at me, my pulse faltering as the darkness stretches out the window. “The only reason I’m telling you this is because I don’t want you to think I’m holding back because you’re lacking in any way. It’s the opposite. You’ve got no idea how hard it is not to surrender to you.”

I force a pained smile. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Then make it easier on both of us and quit tempting me. I’ll hate myself if I succumb.”

I wince as he returns his focus to the highway, the miles between us and the intimacy we shared growing wide.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I won’t tempt you to sleep with me again.”

His chin raises in acknowledgement, but he doesn’t respond.

“I mean it, Remy. I won’t.”

“Good. Then we’re done discussing it.” He continues driving toward the vacation home, the silence dragging.

I sit there mulling over the conversation—what his parents put him through, what I promised, and how we can work around it.

I’m not giving up.

Sex or not, I refuse to believe we can’t have something. Anything.

He’s grown to mean too much to me to simply let go.

The car slows as we approach the familiar drive. He turns onto the property, the tires grating against the coarse path until he stops before the shadowed home with the lone entry light shining from behind the front door.

He cuts the engine, his gaze remaining out the windshield. “Are you all right after what happened with the Irish?”

I nod. “I think so.”

“Do you need me to do anything for you?”

“No. I’m okay.”

“Good.” His voice loses all strength as he unclasps his belt and opens his door. “I’m going to want to leave as soon as your dad wakes in the morning. So we should get some rest while we can.”

I follow him from the car, but like a gentleman, he rounds the hood, helping me gain my footing in the unfamiliar heels.

He remains at my side as we walk to the house. I keep close, not sure how I’m going to handle space between us while he places the PIN code into the security lock, then holds open the front door.

“Go ahead.” He jerks his chin toward the bedrooms. “I’ll stay here and turn off the entry light once you reach your room so we don’t have to illuminate the hall and risk waking your dad.”

I can’t bring myself to walk away from him. I already know tomorrow will come with him having erected walls to keep me out. I need the few more moments we have left.

“I can handle the dark.” I wait, expecting him to protest.

Instead, he stares at me, seeming to war with the simple decision to accompany me toward my room, the seconds passing, the tension building.

He flicks off the light, bathing us in shadow. He’s nothing more than a silhouette as he continues toward me, murmuring a quiet, “Come on,” as he passes.

My heels click against the tile while I follow, the tap, tap, tap increasing my anxiety over the thought of saying goodnight.

He slows as we approach my door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he continues, taking a step away.

My heart screams, the tortured organ curling in on itself.

I can’t help it. I reach through the darkness to claim his hand. To hold tight.

He stops.

Everything does.

All thought. All sound. All movement.

There’s nothing but silence between us. Palpable and foreboding.

“Bed, Ollie.” It’s a growl. A low, delicious grumble.

I swallow over my tightening throat, unable to obey.

The heat I’d felt while pressed into him against the Escalade returns with vengeance.

“Bed,” he repeats.

Bed is exactly what I want as long as he’s in it.

His fingers twitch, and through the darkness he stands taller, growing more commanding. More fierce.

God, it’s a turn-on.

Then he swings around to face me, abruptly stalking the foot of distance between us, his chest grazing mine, intimidating me back against the doorjamb, his body a dark intimidating force.

“Breaking your promises already?” he snarls in my face, and holy fuck, it’s exquisite.

His praise is heaven. But his waning tortured restraint could be bottled and sold for the addictive thrill of it.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m not going to tempt you to sleep with me.”

“Then what is this?” He closes in, his nose an inch from mine.

“I don’t like being indebted.”

Through the low light I can just make out the confused narrowing of his eyes.

“You’ve made me come twice.” I curl my fingers in his shirt. “Let me return the favor.”

A heavy huff of breath leaves his nose.

I grow emboldened, undoing one of his buttons.

“Do you want me to hate myself?” he snarls. “Is that it?”

“That’s not going to happen. You’re not going to sleep with me.”

“You think you could hold me back?” He grinds the hardness of his dick against me.

I smother a whimper. “I know I can,” I lie. I have no clue what I’m capable of when it comes to resisting him. But I have to try. “You won’t force me. And I’m telling you now, sex isn’t on the table.”

“Is that right?” He weaves a hand around my waist, roughly yanking me harder against his cock. “So what is on the table?”

I release another button and raise on the tips of my toes, leaning into him, my lips a breath from his ear. “I want your cock in my mouth.”

His low rumble of laughter is menacing. Fucking dark and electrifying.

“You want me to fuck that gorgeous face in a shadowed hall while your dad sleeps a few rooms away?”

I nod, breathless.

He hauls me into my bedroom and closes the door behind us. “That’s not how this works, my pretty little Pyro.” He flicks on the light, blinding me.

I snap my eyes closed and hide my face against his neck.

“If you want to open the floodgates—” His voice rumbles. “—then you do it while I can see those plush lips stretched around my cock.”

Holy. Hell.

I bite my lower lip, fighting to contain my lust.

“Get on your knees,” he demands.

I clench my core, breathing through the crazy amount of adrenaline coursing through me as I lower in front of him.

“Have you done this before?” He stares down at me, gaze intense, his body practically thrumming with desire.

“No.”

His nostrils flare. He may not enjoy the prospect of my virginity, but he wants this. Needs it. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod, nervous and wildly excited at the same time.

He’s quiet a moment, watching, scrutinizing. “Then undo my belt and lower my zipper.”

I reach out trembling hands, unclasping the leather belt, my heart thumping with the grate of the zipper.

“Pull out my cock.”

I do that, too, releasing the massive length of him from his boxer briefs to take in the sight of him.

He’s beautiful, all thick and engorged, his pubic hair trimmed.

He drags his hand over my jaw, his thumb delicately grazing my cheek. “Good girl.”

I shudder.

Surrender.

“See?” He palms my chin, making me look up at him. “Your body hums when I praise you.”

“I love it,” I admit. “Just not when we’re in the middle of a high-speed car chase.”

“Duly noted.” He grins, the smug expression quickly fading. “Now spread those lips around my cock, Ollie. I want inside that pretty mouth.”

I swallow over the dryness taking over my throat and shuffle closer.

I’m tentative, moving forward slowly, watching him as he watches me. I swear to God he holds his breath.

Then I lick my lips and spread my mouth around him.

He tenses, those eyes silently praising as he allows me to get used to the novelty.

He’s hard, yet so velvety soft.

I’ve barely touched him, yet now he’s against my tongue, the liquid seeping from his tip leaving an unfamiliar taste. I hesitantly glide back and forth, each assault taking him farther, deeper, until I gag slightly.

He moans. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Pyro.”

I stiffen, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“Don’t misinterpret me,” he warns. “I’m not talking about the way you take my dick, ’cause God fucking knows you’ve already got me on the precipice.” He runs a soothing hand over the crown of my braid. “I’m talking about what you’re doing with us. You’re starting something that will never end.”

Good.

I continue sliding my mouth over him, humming my approval.

I can live without sex. I already have for this long. But I can’t live without him.

“You want more?” He eyes me with heated reverence.

I nod.

He growls his approval, his hand fisting my hair. “Then let me guide you.” He holds my head in place and slowly inches himself inside me. Little by little. Getting deeper. Stretching my lips farther. “Breathe through your nose.”

I do as he asks, loving the way he leads me.

He starts to fuck my mouth, the grind of his hips smooth and measured. He’s holding back. Taking it slow.

I palm the back of his thighs, digging my nails into his muscles, silently begging for more.

“Jesus,” he groans.

This time it’s me guiding him to move faster. Harder. The deep rumble emanating from his chest makes me all kinds of crazy while he thrusts with more force. Using me. Enjoying me.

“Enough.” He quits moving. “Get off your knees.”

I ignore him, sucking, licking, starved for more.

He tightens his hold on my hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not finished with your mouth. I just need to get my hands on that sweet pussy.”

Heat floods my core and I pull back, yet still I can’t quit kissing his length, licking the distended veins until his palms wrap around my upper arms and he hauls me to my feet.

He turns me to face the bed, inching close against my back. “Such a greedy little Pyro.” He unzips my dress, the heavy weight falling to pool at my feet. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I wish I knew so I could make sure we stay like this. In tune and fated.

“Do you still think you can stop me from fucking you?” He grinds his dick between my thighs, sliding along the slick ridge of my pussy.

I close my eyes, hating myself for the promise.

“Yes,” I breathe, the feel of him already coaxing me toward climax.

A few more strokes and I’ll be done for.

It’s ridiculous. I’m a mess.

“Good.” He nuzzles my neck, scraping his teeth along my carotid. “Because I’m free-falling. I’m relying on you.” He smacks my ass. “Now get on the bed.”

My skin breaks out in goose bumps as I step away to sit on the comforter.

“Hands and knees, Ollie, and stay close to the edge of the mattress. I want access to the heaven between your thighs while you suck my cock.”

My limbs tremble with the compliance then he’s right there, his legs leaning into the side of the bedframe as he palms his dick and guides it toward me.

“Take it slow.” He slides his free hand down my back, over my ass. “I’m not ready for this to end.”

I nod, my tongue lapping at his slit, but then his fingertips brush my clit through the opening of my ravaged panties and I can’t stop myself from taking him to the back of my throat with a needy groan.

“Shit.” He fists my hair as his fingers plunge inside me, controlling me while he works me up.

But it’s no use. I can’t stop rocking back and forth, already a greedy mess for the friction between my thighs.

“Ollie.”

The masculine warning does nothing to ease my craving.

I squeeze my core around him, my cheeks hollowing with my rabid suction.

“Fuck,” he snarls. “You feel so good.”

I whimper around him, releasing him momentarily to tell him, “I’m so close to coming it’s insane.”

He groans, edging another finger inside me. “Do it.” He pistons his digits. “Show me how you take my dick while you lose control.”

I suck on him like my life depends on it for no reason other than I fucking love it—the excitement it brings, the power I hold.

I come undone, crying out my pleasure around his cock, grinding wildly against his hand.

“That’s my girl.” He keeps working me over the crest, extending the pleasure as he continues to fuck my mouth.

I’m breathless by the time the clenching inside me fades.

“My turn.” He pulls back, dragging his length from my mouth and hand from my core.

I whimper at the loss but watch in fascination as he coats his dick with the slickness on his fingers, then jerks the head of his shaft in fast, commanding strokes.

He stares down at me with heated longing, face pinched, breaths panting. “You did this.” He grabs my jaw with his free hand, dragging me upright, slamming his mouth on mine as he groans so deep and low.

Then I feel it, his cum purged against my stomach, over and over again.

Dear Lord, I could climax again from the mere sensation of him marking me.

It’s too soon when he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, his heated breaths brushing my lips. “You’ve got no business being this perfect.”

I chuckle and fall back onto my ass, glancing down at where he’s branded me. “I could say the same about you.”

He eyes me as I trail a finger through the fluid on my belly and raise it to my mouth, curious for a taste.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He shoves a rough hand through his hair. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”