3 #4
He took my hand only long enough to guide me around a patch of broken shells half-buried in the sand, then let go like he knew holding on too long would make me bolt. The little courtesy pissed me off by being exactly right.
We walked away from the fire together, leaving the party behind by degrees.
The music faded first, then the laughter, then the glow.
The sand grew cooler beneath my feet as we moved along the curve of the shoreline, past the old dock and the reeds whispering in the lake wind.
Moonlight silvered the water beyond the shadows, but the space beneath the dock was dark enough to make my breathing easier.
Dark had rules and gave me edges. It meant nobody got to look unless I let them.
Easton stopped when I did. For a second, we stood there with the lake beside us and the party far enough away to pretend we were the only two people stupid enough to ruin ourselves that night.
I turned to face him. “Remember the rules.”
His eyes held mine. “No names.”
“No lights.”
“No getting me naked.”
“No asking why.”
I nodded once. “Good boy.”
A low sound left him, almost a laugh and almost something rougher. “Careful with that shit.”
I smiled because hearing my own attitude thrown back at me should not have done what it did. “Are you warning me now?”
“No.” He stepped into me, one hand finding my waist while the other slid to the back of my neck with a steadiness that made my knees threaten to embarrass us both. “I’m making sure you know I listened.”
I lifted my chin. “Then prove it.”
He kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss only a confident man could give, delivered like a statement instead of a tentative question.
His mouth was firm and warm, tasting of lake water, cheap beer, and the clean, sharp edge of him.
He didn’t rush or grope. He kissed me like he had all night and intended to spend it learning the exact flavor of my mouth, the soft give of my lower lip, and the way my breath hitched when his tongue slid against mine.
His hand stayed at the back of my neck, holding me steady while his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind my ear.
The other was a hot brand on my waist, his fingers spread wide and possessive without being cruel.
He backed me up until my shoulders met the rough, weathered wood of the dock post. The solid pressure against my spine and the unyielding heat of him against my front left me caged, and a wild, reckless part of me loved it.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming in a controlled rush against my lips. His eyes were black in the shadows, but I felt the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch.
“You set a lot of rules,” he said, his voice a low, rough scrape.
“You agreed to them.”
“I did.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “But you didn’t say I couldn’t touch you everywhere.”
Before I could answer, his hand slid from my waist, down over the curve of my hip, and around to the front of my thigh. His touch was deliberate and unhurried as he traced the high-cut line of my bikini bottom, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Easy,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck. “I’m just looking.”
He wasn’t just looking.
His fingers found the tiny gold ring at my hip. He hooked one finger into it and slowly pulled the thin fabric aside.
The night air was cool against my pussy, and a shocked gasp tore from my throat.
“So pretty. I fucking love that,” he said, his voice thick with approval.
He didn’t go inside. He traced one maddening finger through my slit, gathering wetness before bringing it to his lips without breaking eye contact and sucking it clean. A dark, hungry sound rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, Aura. You taste like trouble.”
My name.
He had broken the first rule.
It shouldn’t have made my stomach flip or sent a fresh pulse of wetness between my thighs, but it did.
“You agreed. No names,” I managed, my voice shaky.
“I lied,” he said, simple as that, and dropped to his knees in the sand.
My hands flew to his shoulders to brace myself. He didn’t ask permission or give me any warning. He put his hands on the backs of my thighs, pulled me forward, and buried his face between my legs.
There was no finesse or gentle exploration. It was raw, hungry, and devastatingly skilled. His tongue dragged through my slit in one flat, hot stripe before zeroing in on my clit. He sucked hard, and my knees buckled. His grip tightened around my thighs, holding me up and open for his mouth.
“Easton—”
His name came out as a broken sob.
He growled against me, the vibration shooting straight into my core, and redoubled his efforts.
His tongue flicked fast and relentless while his mouth sealed around me, sucking in a rhythm that had me seeing stars.
I gripped his short hair and held on as the world narrowed to the wet, hot friction of his mouth and the coarse sand beneath my feet.
I was close enough to teeter on an edge that felt like both oblivion and home.
He pulled away.
The loss was a physical ache, and a pathetic, desperate whimper escaped me. I looked down, dazed. He remained on his knees, his face glistening and his eyes blazing up at me with pure, masculine satisfaction.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice wrecked.
He stood in one fluid motion and crowded me back against the post. “I want you to come on my cock. Not my tongue.”
His hands went to the strings of my bikini top, the ties at my neck and back. He didn’t fumble. He found them and loosened them with two sharp tugs. He didn’t remove the top. He tore it down, baring my breasts to the night air and his hungry gaze.
The cool breeze pebbled my nipples, and his eyes darkened.
“Damn,” he breathed, all the air leaving him in one syllable.
He leaned in and closed his mouth over one peaked nipple.
He sucked hard, his tongue circling and his teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out.
His hand found my other breast, kneading while his thumb rubbed rough circles over the tip.
The dual sensation—the sharp pleasure-pain of his mouth and the firm, possessive kneading of his hand—was overwhelming.
I arched into him in a silent plea.
While his mouth worked, his other hand returned between my legs. His fingers slid through the slick mess he had made and pushed two inside me in one smooth thrust. I was so wet and ready they slid in easily, stretching and filling me. He crooked them, finding a spot that made my vision blur.
“You love that?” he rasped against my breast. “That’s me. Remember it.”
He fucked me with his fingers, deep and steady, while his mouth moved to my other breast and gave it the same brutal, worshipful attention. I panted and writhed against the post, completely at his mercy and hating how much I loved it.
“Please,” I begged, the word torn from somewhere deep and primal.
“Please what, sweetheart?” He lifted his head, his lips swollen and his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you inside me. Now.”
A savage grin touched his mouth. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He withdrew his fingers, and I nearly sobbed at the emptiness.
He shoved his swim trunks down his hips and freed himself.
In the fragmented moonlight, he looked huge, thick, veined, and ready.
He took his cock in his hand, stroked it once through my wetness to slick himself, and held the broad head against my entrance.
He didn’t push in. He only held himself there, pressing against me and teasing us both until the anticipation became torture.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I forced my eyes open. His face was a mask of fierce control, sweat beading at his temples and his jaw clenched. He was holding back, and the effort showed in every tense line of his body.
“Are you on birth control? I don’t have a condom.”
I knew better than to trust anyone, but I didn’t care in that moment. I had been on birth control since my assault, but all of that was fog in my head because all I wanted was him.
I nodded.
“This is happening,” he said, his voice low and gravelly with promise. “And you’re gonna feel every fucking inch of it.”
Then he drove into me in one long, deep, relentless thrust that buried him to the hilt.
The sound I made was pure, undiluted shock. The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, burning fullness that stole the air from my lungs. My head fell back against the post with a dull thud. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, that I could feel him in places I didn’t know existed.
He didn’t move. He braced his hands on the wood on either side of my head, caging me with his body while his forehead dropped to mine. We stayed joined completely, both of us breathing in ragged, shattered sync. His heart hammered against my chest, a wild echo of my own.
His voice was strained and rough with something that went beyond lust. “Feel what I’m doing to you, Aura. Every bit of it. This is me. Inside you. This is what you wanted.”
He began to move.
It wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was raw, primal, and utterly consuming.
He set a hard, driving rhythm, each thrust pushing me up the post and each withdrawal becoming a sweet agony.
The wood scraped my back, the sand shifted beneath my feet, and his body became a relentless, perfect engine driving me into the night.
His mouth found mine again in a searing kiss that swallowed my moans. He tasted like me, like us, like sweat, lake water, and sex. He kissed me like he was trying to consume me, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.
“You feel… fuck, you feel so good,” he gritted out between thrusts, his control fraying. “So tight. So fucking perfect. This cunt was made for me.”
The filthy words, delivered in that rough, earnest voice, shattered the last of my resistance. Another orgasm gathered low and deep, a tidal wave building from my toes.