Chapter 8 Bearded Dragon #3
She meets me with equal ferocity. Her arms lock around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. Her mouth opens under mine, welcoming the invasion. Our tongues clash, hot and desperate.
The taste of champagne and Jane is intoxicating.
I turn her around and walk her backwards, never breaking the kiss, until her back hits the cool wall beside the door. My hands slide down, gripping her ass, lifting her.
She wraps her legs around my waist instinctively, the silk of her cocktail dress riding up. The feel of her bare thighs against my hips, the heat of her core pressed against my straining erection, is pure torture.
“West,” she gasps against my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl, my mouth trailing down her jaw, to the frantic pulse at her throat. I bite down gently, then soothe the spot with my tongue. She shudders, her hips grinding against me.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Please. Don’t stop.”
That’s all the permission I need. I lower her down. My hands slide under her dress, pushing the silk up around her waist.
My fingers find the edge of her lace panties. I hook my fingers into the lace and pull. The fabric tears.
She gasps. "Did you just—"
"They were expensive—"
"I'll buy you more."
I undo my belt, my slacks, freeing myself with efficiency born of desperation. I'm so hard it's painful.
"Condom," she gasps. "We need—"
I'm already reaching for my pocket. I've been carrying them since yesterday—just in case. In case of exactly this.
I tear the wrapper with my teeth. Her eyes go dark.
"That's really hot," she breathes.
"Quiet."
She laughs breathlessly.
I kiss her properly then, slow and deep, pouring everything I can’t say into the connection—the admiration, the protectiveness, the bone-deep need.
She melts against me, her mouth opening under mine, yielding, inviting. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, a desperate claiming.
My hands slide down her back, finding the zipper of her dress. I pull it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room.
The green silk pools at her feet, leaving her in just her bra and the strappy sandals she wore to the party.
Moonlight spills through the window, painting her skin in silver. She’s breathtaking. Small, curved, strong. Utterly real.
My breath catches. “Jane. Let me look at you.”
She flushes, a rosy glow spreading from her cheeks down her neck and chest. She starts to cover herself, but I catch her wrists gently.
“Don’t,” I murmur, bringing her hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Let me see you. All of you.”
I step back, shrugging out of my own shirt, toeing off my shoes. Her gaze travels over my chest, my shoulders, down to the shielded raging cock.
There’s no fear in her eyes now, only heat and a fierce kind of curiosity that sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.
I close the distance again, my hands skimming up her bare sides, tracing the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm silk under my calloused palms. She shivers, arching into my touch.
“Bed?” I ask, my voice rough.
She shakes her head, her eyes locked on mine. “Here.”
I groan. It’s impulsive. Primal. Exactly what this feels like. I nod, unable to speak.
My hands move to the clasp of her bra. It comes undone easily. The lace falls away, and I finally see her breasts, so full and pale in the moonlight, tipped with dusky pink.
Beautiful. Perfect. Mine to worship.
I take one taut peak into my mouth. She gasps, her hands flying to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands.
I suckle gently, then with more pressure, swirling my tongue, learning the texture, the taste.
Her moan is low, desperate, vibrating against my lips. Her hips press against mine, seeking friction.
I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention, while my hand slides down, over the curve of her hip, down her thigh. Her skin is fever-hot.
She whimpers, her legs parting instinctively.
“West… please… Show me how you want me.”
My cock twitches as I lift her leg up and reach between us, guiding myself to her entrance. She’s already slick, ready. So ready.
I push into her in one smooth, deep thrust.
She cries out, her head thudding back against the wall. Her inner muscles clamp down on me, tight and hot and perfect. I groan, burying my face in her neck, breathing in her scent. Coconut. Salt. Jane.
“Okay?” I grit out, holding myself still, buried to the hilt.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Oh yes. Move. Now.”
I pull back slowly, almost all the way out, then slam home again. Harder. Deeper. A gasp tears from her throat. Her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Like that?” I murmur against her skin.
“Yes! Again!”
I set a punishing rhythm. No finesse. No careful control.
Just raw need. The slap of skin against skin echoes in the quiet room, mingling with her breathless cries and my own guttural groans.
I hold her pinned against the wall, driving into her with relentless force.
She takes it all, meeting every thrust, her body arching into mine.
“Harder,” she demands, her voice ragged.
I oblige. My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as I piston into her. Her cries escalate, sharp and desperate. I feel her body tightening, coiling, the tension building towards a breaking point.
"That's it," I rasp against her throat, barely holding on.
"Come for me, Jane. I need—"
Her back arches violently off the wall. She shatters with a broken cry that destroys me, her body clenching around me so hard I see stars.
The rhythmic pulses of her orgasm grip me like a vice, dragging me toward the edge.
Her orgasm slams into her—back arching, nails scoring my shoulders—and I pull out before I lose control completely.
"Couch. Now."
I don't wait for her to move—I lift her, her legs still trembling, and carry her the three steps across the room.
She's gasping, clinging to my shoulders, making these small desperate sounds that are killing me. "West—"
"Not done." My voice is wrecked. "Not even close. Turn around. Hands on the back of the couch."
She obeys, unsteady, and I'm right behind her, crowding her space, my chest against her back, my hips fitting against her ass like we were designed for this.
"Spread your legs." I nudge her feet apart gently, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
My body covers hers, skin to skin, my chest against her back. I can feel every curve, every breath she takes.
My cock nestles in the cleft of her ass, hot, throbbing and heavy. I'm shaking with the effort of not just driving into her immediately.
My hands slide around her waist, one splaying possessively low on her stomach, the other drifting lower, through the soft curls, finding her heat. She’s drenched with her cum.
She braces as my fingers glide through her folds, finding her clit. I circle it fast, then slow, then fast again, deliberately, feeling it swell under my touch.
“Oh, oh…,” she moans, pushing her hips back against me. “West…”
“Shh,” I murmur against the shell of her ear, my lips brushing her skin. “I’ve got you, little minx.”
My fingers continue their torturous circles.
"You feel incredible. So wet."
I press a kiss to her shoulder blade. "Do you know how beautiful you are like this?"
She makes a strangled sound—half laugh, half moan.
My cock twitches against her, getting impossibly harder.
"Still think I'm gay?" I murmur against her ear, rubbing myself against the small of her back. "Want me to prove how straight I am?"
"Because I could take you hard right now." I increase the pressure, feeling her swell under my touch. "Show you exactly what you do to me. Would you like that, Jane? Want me to ruin you for anyone else?"
"Yes," she gasps, pushing back against me desperately. "Please—"
But I feel the tremor in her thighs. See the way her knuckles are white on the couch back.
She's eager. But she's still so new to this.
I exhale hard, reining myself in. "Not like that. Not yet."
"West—"
"Shh." I press a kiss to her shoulder blade, gentling my touch.
My fingers resume their circles—fast, then slow, then fast again. Teasing. "You don't know what you're asking for, darling."
"I'm not—I can—"
I laugh against her neck, the sound rough.
"Oh, I know you think you can take it. But not yet."
I bite down gently on her earlobe.
"First, I'm going to have you like this—hands and knees on the couch. Your first doggy is mine. I'm going to make you feel every inch. And when you think about this position for the rest of your life, you're going to remember me behind you."
My hand tightens possessively on her hip. "And trust me, sweetheart—by the time I'm finished, you won't be thinking about anything except how good I feel inside you."
She whimpers, her body already responding to my words, hips rolling back against my hand.
"That's it. Show me how much you want it." My fingers work her clit faster now, tighter circles that make her gasp. She's wound so tight, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm.
She bounces against me, her back arching in perfect offering.
I position myself behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding my cock to her entrance.
She's so wet she’s dripping down her inner thigh. I can feel it on my fingers, slick and hot.
"Deep breath," I tell her, pressing head my broad head forward just enough to feel resistance. "This is going to feel different. Deeper."
"I'm ready," she gasps. "West, please—"
I push in slowly, watching her body accept me inch by inch as I stretch her. The angle is intense—for both of us. I can feel every flutter of her muscles, every adjustment as she takes me deeper.
"Holy—" Her voice breaks off into a moan. "That's—oh—"
"I know." My grip on her hip tightens, holding her steady as I sink deeper. "You're doing so well. Taking me so perfectly."