CHAPTER 65
Ana
THE FIRST KISS is an exploratory one. Two mates cautiously taking a bite to make sure that one isn’t going to break out and murder the other first.
At the second kiss, all hell breaks loose.
My legs wrapped tight around Troy’s waist, his hands tangle roughly in my waves, our joined bodies, a tornado knocking everything that comes in our contact.
How we manage to make it into his room—with half our clothes torn off—is still a mystery to me.
When the backs of my knees hit his mattress, the chaos pauses, allowing us to catch our breaths—what’s left of it—Troy helping me remove my top. I watch his tight, bare stomach clench as his gaze falls over my exposed chest.
At the slightest flicker of his lips, the desire spurs me to peel off my thong, letting the lace drop to my ankles. Stepping out of the fabric, kicking it away, I push myself onto the bed, my gaze on him the whole time.
Troy continues to stand there, without a word, refusing to look down my body just yet. Like he’s still scared.
“What, never seen a girl naked before, Troy?” I mock, though I start to feel myself grow vulnerable by the way he’s looking at me.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says.
I hear it in the way he so softly emphasizes the word “you,” something about it cracking my heart a little.
Brushing it off, as he leans in again and his lips ghost over my mouth, I tug at his deep blue sweatpants, my heart on the verge of escaping my chest when the fabric drops.
Those damn rumors, they were all true.
He’s big.
Bigger than I expected, bigger than I’ve ever had, and the realization sends a shiver down my spine.
And makes me bite over my bottom lip, tilting my head up at him.
“Wow,” I say, my voice teasing. “I think this is the most impressed I’ve ever been by you.”
“Ouch.” Troy’s jaw drops, feigning hurt. “But, thank you,” he adds like a cocky little shit.
The soft tug he gives my legs right after makes me want to gasp, but with my already fan-girl-esque reaction to his dick, playing it cool is imperative.
He leans down, and oh my Lord, Troy Larsson’s face is about to be in. Between. My. Legs. Like, now.
Stop that, Ana.
The softest lips—yes, he had to have soft lips, too—paint my legs, until they reach the apex of my thighs. He pulls back with a devilish kind of smirk. “You always been this wet around me, Petrov?”
“I’m not wet because of you,” I defend quickly.
“We’re lying now, are we?” he tsks. “So if I were to, just, I dunno, touch you like this…” He lazily runs a middle finger up and down my slick folds and—oh. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with me?”
My teeth clenched into my bottom lip, I snap, “No.”
He chuckles, the sound as deep as I’ve ever heard from him.
“Alright. If that’s how you want to play this.”
Raising myself until I’m pressing my weight against my elbows, I coax, “Used to having it easy with girls, Troy? Pushing them around in your bed, ordering them to do what you want? That’s not going to work with me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Good luck, sweetie—”
His eyes locked on mine, Troy spits on my flesh before he licks a perfectly clean stripe along my pussy.
“Oh my God!” I cry out.
“Exactly.”
“Shut up!!”
Two soft kisses to my inner thighs, and his very naked body hovers over mine. Holding back the next sound that wants to claw out from me, I decide to tear him apart for abandoning my hips so suddenly.
“That’s all?” I say with a scoff. “Did you need instructions? Or you think you can make me come without my help—”
My voice cuts off when a long, thick index finger plunges into my slick core.
“What were you saying, dearest?” Troy baits, all while pushing his fingers in and out, pumping faster, and faster, but all I need is. More. More. More.
Which he gives me, adding his middle finger to the mix, rotating them both in a way that no one has ever done before, and it’s so good, I want to whimper. Which I almost do. Something I’ve never done before whilst tangled in bedsheets.
But then his thumb, his fucking thumb passes up my clit, touching it with the softest of taps. Tap. Tap. Tap. Fucking, tap. And I whimper. I whimper so loud that it makes his brows raise.
“Oh baby, has no one ever fucked you like this before?” he breathes the words along the center of my chest, a hand still working at my hips, his other brushing over a tight breast.
I so want to grimace, but can’t. Not when he curls the fingers between my legs as he takes a shameless bite into my neck.
And that’s it, my entire body spasms, my walls holding onto his fingers for dear life, while he continues slipping them back and forth lazily until I’ve fully come down from the high.
Troy removes his fingers from my dripping core, the wet sound of his skin popping out of me causing another, smaller spasm of its own. His eyes coated with lust, he brings his soaked hand toward me. “Open your mouth.”
If anyone else had spoken to me like that, I’d slap them.
But this part, right here, is part of our game. And the part of me that loves to be ahead of him, wonders if he realizes just how far I’d go to prove him wrong.
When I squeeze my legs together to stop from leaking more, he kicks them back open again with a knee, stretching my pussy in tandem.
I moan, opening my mouth from the overwhelming arousal.
“Lick,” he orders.
I dart my tongue out and drag it up his fingers, with my eyes on his, feeling his cock twitch against the inside of my leg, dripping precome along it.
“Good girl,” he praises, his cheeks proud.
The erection beside me looks painful, but Troy continues to ignore it, hooking my legs around his shoulders, his features growing feral as he drops his face between my legs and starts to feast.
My eyes—fuck—they roll back from his first taste, my hands shoved into his hair, while he licks and nips at me like a man starved.
Meanwhile, I look like a lunatic, scrambling around his sheets, ruining them, arching my back one second, holding his face in place another.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages. “Let it out.”
Nope. Can’t. It would be too embarrassing.
He holds his own though, up for the challenge. Bringing his lips to my clit, dragging his teeth over it, tracing the flesh with them before he lifts it, and he sucks. Hard.
But then he just lets it go.
Then drives his tongue over the same spot.
Letting it go.
Sucking it again.
I squirm against the soft sheets when the pulsing of my clit grows erratic.
Just because he’s cruel, he decides to let go of it again, darting his tongue out, flicking over the most sensitive slit on my clit.
Flick.
He pulls back just to watch me writhe around, keeping both hands tight around my hips.
Flick.
My head is spinning, feeling the pleasure reach its crest before a gust of cold air replaces his warm, wet tongue.
Again.
On the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm just a second ago, I tighten my grip around his smooth hair roughly.
“I hate you,” I whine.
“Yes.” Troy licks the edge of his mouth, greed curving his lips when he gets a good look at my aching, ruined core. Hovering his face right above it, he chuckles. Dark. “You’ve made that very clear.”
Asshole.
I let out a strangled moan when his tongue dances along my slit, spearing it right through before the vivid sounds of each flick from his tongue swallows the room.
My eyes shut tight, hoping that somehow helps distract from every naughty thing he’s doing to me.
“Stop torturing yourself, baby,” he mumbles against my clit, not helping. “I know you want to scream.”
He’s right. I do want to scream. But he’s not getting off that easy.
So I try and convince myself that there’s no way anything he does with the massive length poking against my leg could match the sorcery that’s in his tongue.
Pulling Troy’s shoulders until his body is back up to me, he eyes me suspiciously and amusingly as I guide his cock toward my entrance.
His brows twisted together, like he’s more annoyed than I am that I pulled back before coming on his face, Troy reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom. Ripping it open with his teeth, I watch as he puts it on, unaware that my thighs have started to rub against each other.
He notices that, too, leaning over me again, bending one of my legs, tossing it over his shoulder the same moment he dips in. Just his tip.
I gasp at the proximity that’s so close, still too far.
But he decides not to move just yet, watching me to see if I’m about to throw him another curveball, using this time to trace the smallest circles over my nipples with the pads of his thumbs, my body clamping around his.
“I felt that,” he rubs in.
“You must be feeling things because I felt nothing,” I say, hearing the crack in my own voice.
A visible intensity brightens Troy’s features. “You might want to hold onto me now.”
“What?” Though, I’m cut off by the power of his thrust, my hands immediately gripping onto his neck. “Ohhhh.”
Holding it in, it’s no longer bearable, every moan throttling into a ravenous scream.
Flicking my eyes to where we’re joined, to where Troy continues to pound into me, I lose myself in this moment, forgetting about every pressure, every expectation, everything I’m supposed to be—all of it shrinks into the pleasure that’s erasing every troubled thought that’s haunted me for more midnights than I can count.
And Troy’s observant, I’ve just found out.
When he hits a spot I like, he stays there, testing if a slight change in the angle could hit better, and does it.
He lifts my leg higher, bending my knee until it’s folded completely against my chest, taking advantage of our combined flexibility, the smirk glistening over his face hinting that this might be one of the moves he was blabbering on about in that cold rink tunnel at the start of training season.
We’re skaters. Think of all the different positions we have in our back pocket.
And fuck, was I missing out.
In a position as wild as only an acrobat, he moves again, thrusting at an angle that splits my spine open and pukes glitter and pleasure in areas unheard of.
“Fuck me, you feel unreal,” Troy grunts out.
Yeah, I second that notion.
I come first, so hard I’m past seeing stars when I get a jump-scare from the fucking moon itself.
But when Troy comes—his features stretched taut, his teeth out and over my collarbone, groaning like a real man who—thank the heavens—isn’t afraid to be loud in the bedroom—half the sticky liquid falling down my legs must be from me.
After he’s collapsed over me, and I’ve just about died, Troy slides off to my left, falling onto his back.
Sweaty skin rubs against the side of my shoulder, the sound of our deep, hazy breathing fogging up the room again.
“That was—” I pant out.
“Incredible,” he finishes.
“Yeah.”
Yeah, it—unfortunately—was.