Chapter 9 #2
I suck at her flesh, tonguing up to her clit as I slide a hand in, up between me and her cunt. I push two fingers in, right as I capture her clit, and suck it hard.
She screams, shaking, her body spasming on my fingers. As she comes, I slip down to the ground and push her already collapsing body around so her pussy is ready and waiting for me.
I drop my pants, pumping my cock as I hold her open, gazing on that soft wet, quivering pink.
“What are you doing?” she moans, her eyes glazed.
With one last pump, I line up and push into her, slow and steady, so she can feel every inch of me fill her, and I can feel that stretch of her against me.
Tight, slick, perfection, and her pussy rewards the slow invasion with little tremors.
When I’m in, I still, heart beating fast as I try to stop the high climb of my balls and the intense need to just fucking give in and come now.
I bend over her, kissing her ear as I thrust slow and deep into her.
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I bite her shoulder soft and thrust in hard and deep and hold it as little ripples roll down my cock.
And my groan rises, along with the pleasure that claws through me, making my balls ache.
But while I want to fuck her into oblivion, I try to keep my control tight.
It’s hard because this woman’s perfection, from the smoothness of her skin, to how she fits me, all the way to her sweet taste and caustic little bite.
Everything is the kind of perfect storm of chaos I like.
What gets me going even harder is how her claws and fight and chaotic mess of clashing messages happens beneath the pristine and disciplined ballerina good girl from Fifth Avenue surface.
“Did you think I was going to claim your ass, there, Molly girl?”
“Yes!”
I’m not one to miss that unspoken invitation.
Virgin to expert in seconds flat, and I wonder if she’s got any fucking idea how I want to go there with her. In every way, every place I can think of.
She pushes back on me. Once. Twice. Harder each time. Grinding on me. Molly’s got style.
“Oh, this feels…so…exciting…” she whispers.
Fuck. She’s wet, so tight around me. I slam into her and wrap my arm around her, finding her clit with my free hand so I can control the thrusts. I twist and stroke and thrum her clit until she tightens up on my dick and comes.
It’s a full-body convulsion with little cries and hardcore spasms that send me spiraling.
Every ripple and intense contraction is the sweetest fucking agony to me. I’m aching. I’m trying not to cum because I want this to be about her.
I hold it, rocking lightly as I stroke her clit as she’s swept away by a second orgasm.
When she’s done, she starts to flop on the sofa and I ease out, gathering her in my arms and carrying her over to the bed.
I’d love for her to ride me. And if this is the only night we fuck, I’m taking full advantage.
But it’s not going to be the only night.
“You didn’t…” She stops, sits up, pushing her flame red hair from her face as she gives me a dark, coppery look, full to the brim with suspicion.
“I didn’t what? Use your words, I know you can.”
She twists a nipple beneath the shirt I’m still wearing, and I raise a brow. “You didn’t make me suck your cock.”
I’m not gonna lie here, of all the things I thought she might ask, that never made the list. “No, but I want it. I’m not an eejit.”
“Well…”
I ignore that well, because I don’t think it was said as an offer, more as a counterpoint to me claiming not to be a fool.
She’s the kind of girl a man could be a fool over.
Lucky I don’t like her. Lucky I just want to ravage her body.
But other men might, and other men aren’t my problem down the line.
Not the weird ass maybe marriage waiting in the wings that stinks of wanting all her money she’ll inherit.
Not any men she might sleep with. When the job’s done, we’re done, and I’ll never think of Molly again.
I grab her wrists and flip her so I’m on top. “If you weren’t two steps away from being a virgin, there are a lot of things I’d do to you.”
“If,” she says, eyes flashing, “I let you.”
“Other way around, Marlowe.” I stretch her arms up, planting a thigh between hers. I’m hard. I’m more than ready, I’m teetering on a blue-balled kind of mood. “You need to recover. I’m basically a saint.”
“I’m not a nun.”
“No, you’re a brat who was, up until a wee while ago, a virgin.”
“I’ve sucked cock.”
Now, that I remember. “I know.”
“Not just yours.”
A muscle beats hard in my jaw and ice slices into me, jagged edged. “How many?”
“Why?”
Why? Is she crazy? I want to know how many men I need to kill. “Curiosity.”
“Lots.”
“Football teams?” I ask with deceptive lightness.
She flips the script. “How many have you?”
“None. Not into cock, there, Molly. I like lady parts.”
She rolls her eyes. “How many?”
“You mean which ones?” I try to bite the twitch of a smile.
And she growls. “All of them.”
“A lot more than a lot.”
Her mouth forms a narrow line. “Get off me.”
“Why? You’re the one who wanted to have a pissing contest here. Count the notches on the bedpost.” I kiss my way along that tight line.
And then I release her, rolling off her to my feet. But she grabs me, scrambling off the sofa to her knees on the floor, wrapping her fingers around my dick.
“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing there, Marlowe. I’m very close—”
Words stop as she suddenly dives on me, her mouth opening. She sucks on the tip of my dick, making me stagger as she starts to lick and kiss, dragging a deep, guttural groan from me as she opens, taking me deeper and to the back of her throat.
She sucks my shaft, her tongue playing it where she can as she pushes down on me, deep as she can go.
And then she goes for my fucking balls, lightly squeezing and playing them as she gags herself on my dick.
I’m not going to control myself, I can’t.
Already the pleasure’s surging up, and when she takes me as deep as possible, I hold her head, my balls tight, and I cum.
Spurt after spurt down the back of her throat.
It’s insane. She works the tip, swallowing hard, and her whole mouth sucks like she’s trying to breathe—
Shit.
I manage to drag myself out, wrapping a hand on my dick and pumping the last few ropes onto her face, her tits, in her hair.
“Christ, Molly.”
I let go of my dick and drag her up, throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to the massive bathroom.
The floors are heated. I turn on the big shower and put her down before getting under the water with her. Then I take her in my arms and kiss her.
“You disgust me,” she says, voice thick.
“You disgust me.” And I kiss her again.
I wash her and myself, knowing I could take this teetering, still-full keg of sexual gunpowder over the edge and show her how much fun a shower for two can be, but I don’t.
She’s beyond delicious. She’s fucking exquisite. So I control myself and just get us clean, offering her a taste of care after sex.
When we’re done, I dry her in a big fluffy towel. Marlowe keeps starting conversations, but I make her get in bed where I feed her a glass of whiskey this time. I sit on top of the covers, going through my phone. I need to not get under those covers. I need to have a level head.
There’s something bigger here, I know it.
But I lie next to her on the top of the covers, thinking things through. And somewhere in the middle of it, I fall asleep.
“Declan?”
I sit up straight, naked, I look around, startled. If that Clawzilla’s up to something, then—
Oh shit. I’m not home, and that’s Marlowe speaking.
Fear’s in her voice.
My heart pounds and I’m suddenly wide awake. I pull on my pants and look around. There are no visible threats, but she stands at her ballet bag holding a small box. Silver wrapping paper sits on the small table.
And she’s shaking.
“Molly?” I walk over to her.
Fuck.
Now I see why she’s shaking where she stands next to an end table.
In a small white box, nestled in tissue paper, is a tiny bird.
And it’s dead.