Chapter 22 En Prise #2
“Yes. Yes, okay, yes.” I don’t recognize my own voice, broken and breathy, trembling with the rest of my mess of a body. “That.”
“Full sentences, baby. Come on.”
“I’m going to, to—”
“No, you’re not.” And with that, his fingers are gone, and I’m the stars on the back of my eyelids, fuzzy silver dots on a wash of black. “Answer me.”
This is unreal. This can’t be real. I’d been so close to spilling over that it takes me minutes to sink back into myself.
I’m clutching Faust’s hair when I come back to Earth, though the satisfied gleam in his eyes tells me that he doesn’t mind the death grip.
And I don’t even want to hide the disoriented pout that I can feel tingling across my face.
He looks so proud of how well he’s wrecked me. I want him to see it.
“Your cock.” I start to move off him. “I have a, a condom in my—”
Faust wraps both of his hands around my hips and tugs.
I squeak as my knees push down against the soft duvet, the muscles in his thick arms flexing, shoulders rippling.
He kisses me as he slips himself out of his undone pants, a wet, distracted kiss that breaks when he takes a slim golden wrapper from his pocket. He’d been prepared, too.
A pomegranate seed, indeed.
It’s a tangle after that. Me taking off his shirt and him rolling the condom over himself, and then we’re back, closer to the headboard, me on his lap again.
So much of his skin is on display as he bows his head, grabs one of my hands, and kisses me where my palm ends and my wrist begins.
His mouth is hot, devouring. Almost too much as he shoves my thighs wider apart again, opening me.
“I want to touch you,” I gasp, Faust’s wild gaze eating up each word that comes out of my mouth. “Right now. Before we, I want, I want…”
He nods, following my train of thought to where I can’t quite go vocally.
He cups my face in his hands and tilts my mouth against his, says, “I know,” before he kisses me again.
This kiss is different than the others. Faster, more of him pressing against me, and I get the feeling that he isn’t holding back anymore. He can’t.
A fire simmers beneath my skin as I reach down to stroke my fingers over the length of him, only wishing I could touch him while he was still pressed against me.
I like when we’re wedged together, too close.
But I like this, too. I slip my fingers around him, and Faust lets out a choked gasp into my neck, the slick condom completely failing to hide how he twitches beneath my hand.
“Oh.”
He lets out a low, dark laugh that tapers off into a grunt. “Fuck. Like that.”
I’m barely even touching him, and he sounds like I’m on my knees. I suck at the inside of my cheek, trying to distract myself from the growing ache between my legs. I work my hand lower, grabbing him—and Faust drags in a breath so sharp, my heart skips a beat.
“Fuck, fuck—fuck.”
Decimated. That’s how he sounds now, how he looks, his pinched face, his screwed-shut eyes. His hips jerk toward my hand as I stroke down, my pressure light. But light seems to be what he loves. His head tilts back, the veins in his neck flexing as his jaw tightens.
“Is that…?” Good? Satisfactory?
“Yes.”
More heat blooms beneath my skin. Faust’s fingers find the back of my neck again as I work him closer to his own breaking point, which isn’t that far away to begin with, I realize.
And my doubts drop away one by one; about my skill, or that I’m doing this all wrong.
His hips would not be rutting back and forth if I was bad at this.
The moans he’s biting back, teeth digging into his lips, wouldn’t be happening.
“Is it usually like this?” I whisper. “For you. Do you usually like it this much?”
A beat. “It’s never—” He presses our foreheads together, his skin slick with sweat and warm, warm, warm. “It’s never like this.”
I stop for a moment. Meet his dumbstruck eyes as I lift my fingers to my mouth and spit.
Then I take him again, line him up with my entrance.
Faust’s grip on me tightens, his fingernails nipping against my skin.
“That’s it.” His gaze is trained to where we’re meeting.
His cock, nudged against me, almost inside.
“God, baby. Look at you. Working so hard to take what you want.”
He starts to say something else, but gets cut off by the heat that is him, pushing inside me.
Just the tip. And there isn’t any resistance at all, my body prepared for him, the honeyed burn, the fullness.
But my mind is another story. I could never have been prepared for the face Faust makes when he bottoms out inside me, with me on top.
His eyes are shut, totally gone, a muscle in his jaw twitching with effort not to move too quickly, maybe.
This ceaselessly strong man, rendered into a shaky, flustered mess beneath me.
His chest hitches. “Too much?”
I roll my hips in answer.
He exhales a hot breath, taking me by my waist. “Fucking terror.” His fingers close around me loosely, not impeding my movements at all.
It’s the bare minimum of control, but I feel him pulse inside me anyway, the sensation sending another wave of warmth crashing over the deepest parts of me.
I was already so close that I feel everything.
The light scratch of his nails. The vibration of his chest when he groans.
How he grips me tighter each time I lift up. I’m on the edge, literally.
Like he can read my thoughts, Faust abandons my hips for my clit again. One touch, and I’m almost out of my mind, overheated and overstimulated. “You want to come?” he grits out.