Chapter 8 #2
"Van," I gasp as his mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below my ear. The sharp bite of pain mixed with pleasure makes me whimper.
"Tell me you want this," he commands against my neck, his breath hot and demanding. His hand slides down to cup my ass through the silk, squeezing hard enough to make me arch into him. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."
"Yes." The word tears from my throat as his other hand finds the slit in my dress, fingers ghosting over my bare thigh. "I want you. I need you to…"
He captures my mouth again, swallowing whatever I was about to say. The kiss turns more demanding, more possessive, his tongue claiming mine as his hand slides higher under my dress. When his fingers brush against the damp lace of my panties, we both groan.
"So fucking wet already," he growls against my mouth, pressing the lace against my clit through the fabric. "Such a good girl, getting ready for me."
The praise makes me dizzy. No one's ever called me a good girl while doing something so dirty, and the contrast sends shockwaves through my system. I buck against his hand, desperate for more pressure, more friction, more everything.
"Please," I whimper, not even sure what I'm begging for.
"Please what?" His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing without giving me what I need. "Use your words."
"Touch me," I gasp, my hips rolling against his hand. "Please touch me properly."
"Like this?" He pushes the lace aside and slides one finger through my slick folds, making me cry out. "Fuck, you're soaked. Is this what you've been thinking about? Me touching your pretty little pussy?"
I can't form words, can only nod frantically as he circles my clit. His surgeon's hands know exactly how to touch me, exactly how much pressure to apply to make me shake against the wall.
"I need to taste you," he says suddenly, dropping to his knees in front of me. The sight of this powerful man kneeling at my feet makes my core clench with want.
He pushes my dress up around my waist and hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs with agonizing slowness. When the lace hits the floor, he spreads my thighs with his hands, exposing me completely to his hungry gaze.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to my inner thighs. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue, and then I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name."
The filthy promise makes me whimper with need. When his mouth finally makes contact with my core, I nearly scream. His tongue laps at my clit with broad strokes before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Van, oh god," I moan, my hands tangling in his dark hair as he works me over. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
"That's it," he growls against my clit, the vibrations making me shake. "Ride my face. Show me how much you need this."
I can't help but obey, my hips moving against his mouth as he claims me with his fingers and tongue. The pleasure builds and builds until I'm teetering on the edge, desperate for release.
"Come for me," he commands, sucking my clit hard. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."
The orgasm rips through me, my body convulsing as I cry out his name. He works me through it, his tongue gentling as the waves of pleasure slowly subside. When I finally come back to myself, he's standing in front of me again, his lips glistening with my arousal.
"We're not done," he says, his voice rough with need. He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the couch. Instead of laying me down gently, he turns me around and bends me over the back of it, my hands bracing against the leather cushions.
The position leaves me completely exposed to him, my dress bunched around my waist and my ass in the air. I hear the sound of his zipper, then feel the thick head of him pressing against my entrance.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his hands gripping my hips. But there's a dark edge to his voice that tells me he's barely holding back.
"Yes," I breathe, pushing back against him. "Please, Van. I need you inside me."
He enters me in one hard thrust, filling me completely. I cry out at the sudden stretch, struggling to accommodate his size. He's bigger than I expected, thick and long and perfectly designed to wreck me.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, holding still to let me adjust. "Your little cunt is gripping me so hard."
I've never been spoken to like that. The dirty words make me clench around him, and he hisses in response. When he starts to move, it's with slow, deep strokes that have me gasping with each thrust. The angle lets him hit places inside me I didn't even know existed.
"Harder," I demand, pushing back against him. "I can take it."
Something changes in him then, like my permission unleashed the animal he's been keeping leashed. His grip on my hips tightens as he starts fucking me with rough, powerful strokes that have the couch sliding across the floor.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, one hand fisting in my hair and pulling my head back. "To be bent over and fucked like the dirty girl you really are?"
"Yes," I gasp, the slight pain in my scalp mixing with the pleasure of his shaft stretching me. "God, yes."
"I knew you were different the first time I saw you," he continues, his voice dark and possessive. "Knew you needed someone to show you what you really are. You don't want some gentle boy who'll treat you like glass. You want a man who'll fuck you hard and make you his."
His words send me spiraling toward another orgasm. The idea that he saw through my sheltered exterior to something deeper, something I didn't even know existed, makes me feel exposed in the best possible way.
"I want to be yours," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. "I want you to make me yours."
"Already are," he growls, his pace becoming almost punishing. "This pussy belongs to me now. No one else gets to touch you, to see you like this."
The possessive claim pushes me over the edge. I come with a scream, my entire body shaking as the orgasm tears through me. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep as he fills me with his release, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
For long moments, we stay joined, both breathing hard. Then he's gentle again, carefully withdrawing from me and helping me stand on shaking legs. He smooths my dress back down over my thighs, the gesture surprisingly protective.
"Can you walk?" His gray eyes search my face with concern mixed with something softer.
"I think so." But when I take a step, my legs shake, and he immediately sweeps me into his arms.
"Bedroom," he says simply, carrying me through his sparse apartment like I weigh nothing.
In his bedroom, he sets me on the bed carefully. The grumpy surgeon who barks orders at everyone has disappeared, replaced by someone tender in a way that confuses me. He disappears into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth.
"This might be tender," he warns, his touch careful as he cleans between my legs. The intimacy of it makes my cheeks burn, but I don't protest.
I watch him work, seeing the contrast between the man who just fucked me senseless and this gentle caretaker. Everything's different now. I'm different. And I don't know if that excites me or terrifies me.
"Van?" I catch his wrist as he starts to pull away. "What happens now?"
Something flickers in his expression, surprise, maybe, that I'm not running. He tosses the washcloth aside and settles beside me on the bed, but there's something calculating in his eyes now.
"Now you sleep," he says, pulling the covers over me. But instead of settling in beside me like I expect, he sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed except for his discarded jacket and tie. "Tomorrow, we establish some ground rules."
The change in his tone sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold. "Ground rules?"
"You seem to be under the impression that what just happened changes our arrangement." His voice returns to that detachment I recognize from the hospital, but there's something darker underneath it now. Something possessive. "It doesn't."
I blink up at him, my post-orgasmic haze rapidly clearing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I fuck you when I want to fuck you. How I want to fuck you." He traces one finger along the curve of my jaw, the touch deceptively gentle. "But that doesn't make you my girlfriend, princess. That makes you mine."
The distinction stings. "Van…"
"You wanted to know what these hands could do to you," he continues, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip. "Now you know. But don't mistake good sex for something it's not."
I should be angry. Should push his hand away and storm out. But lying here naked in his bed, surrounded by his scent and the lingering ache between my thighs, all I can think about is the way he said "mine" like he was claiming territory.
"And what if I want more than that?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Something dangerous flickers in his expression. "Then you're going to learn the difference between what you want and what you get." He leans down, his mouth brushing against my ear. "Sweet dreams, Carmela. Try not to think too hard about what other rules we'll be establishing."
He stands and heads toward the door, leaving me naked and reeling in his bed.
"Where are you going?" I call after him.
He pauses in the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the hall light. "To check the locks. To make sure you're safe." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Because that's what I do now. I keep what's mine protected."
The door closes behind him with a soft click, and I'm left alone in the darkness, my heart racing and my body already aching for his touch again. I should be horrified by his casual dominance, by the way he's rewritten the rules without asking.
Instead, I find myself pressing my thighs together, already wet again from the promise in his voice. Whatever game we're playing now, the stakes just got infinitely higher, and I have no idea if I'm the player or the prize.