29. Bring Me to Tears
29
Bring Me to Tears
I pushed the door open to my apartment, the hinges squeaking with intrigue.
Victor laid a hand on my waist and brushed his lip against my ear. His murmur rumbled deep in my core. “Should I leave my shoes at the door?”
The courtesy made me want to fuck him even more. I slid my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Leave everything at the door. Including your clothes.”
Grinning, he glanced down the hall. “Don’t you have a roommate?”
“Yes, but she’s on night shift. It’s like living with a ghost who leaves their dirty dishes in the sink.” This wasn’t a romantic conversation, but we couldn’t keep our hands off each other any longer. I pulled him into a kiss and stumbled inside, kicking the door shut behind us. He spun me around, then pinned my back against it.
The impact of the solid wood and his warm body momentarily stunned me. I was dizzy, high on sage and Victor’s dominance. Was this really happening? Would he fuck me against the wall? Love me? Promise me…loyalty?
He waited, gauging my interest.
Fuck, I loved this energy, every second brewing with possibility.
I didn’t know what I wanted. Not exactly. I reached for his face and kissed him with desperate need. We twisted together, our hands wandering and tongues tangling. I unbuttoned his vest as he groped my ass. Every touch stoked a roaring fire in my soul. I needed more.
I twisted every button I could find with my eyes closed: his vest, shirt, and pants. I wanted them off.
He shoved my shorts and panties down my thighs, then knelt to wrangle them over my boots.
Warm air caressed my freshly exposed skin.
I giggled breathlessly and steadied myself on his shoulders. It wasn’t too often my ass was out like this.
He pulled my hips toward him and nipped my upper thigh.
Gasping, I sank my nails into his shoulders. Was that a punishment for laughing? His sucking kiss to the same spot as his bite submerged me back in the mood.
My eyelashes fluttered as blood rushed south. “Victor…”
Pushing my dress up, he hooked my leg over his shoulder. His eyes glimmered as he trailed kisses up my thigh. Teasing. Wanting. He caressed each inch of flesh on his way to the pooling desire between my legs. Then, he paused.
My knees wobbled with anticipation.
What was he waiting for? My permission?
I stroked his bangs away from his eyes. What an intuitive, beautiful man. He could bite me any day and I’d thank him for it later.
His breath misted across my skin.
“Go ahead,” I whispered, my heartbeat pounding between my legs.
He kissed my pussy, then licked his lips, savoring it.
I shivered and sank into his embrace.
Each flick of his tongue tortured me with pleasure. He suckled my need, feeding on the desire he’d been stoking all evening.
How long had he hungered for this? For me?
Just thinking about him lusting sent me spiraling into depraved fantasies. In one, Victor drenched my tits in melted butter and squeezed them until I screamed. In another, he bent me over the theater wall, then railed me until my legs gave out. Hell, I could imagine him attaching clamps to my tits and clit, tugging any time I paid attention to a movie instead of him. It was so fucked up. Somehow, he sensed I needed to dance on that knife-edge of risk. After all this, I trusted him not to cut me with it.
I groaned and spread my legs, my pussy quivering in bloom under the attention of his devilish tongue. He stroked my entrance with his fingers, then thrust inside. Oh, god, I loved having him inside me. Thrusting, spreading… feeling . My inner walls clamped down, loving him to the bone. I was hungry for pressure, for more of him, all of him.
He moaned and kissed my clit, the reverberations shaking my core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said.
Hell yes, I was. I struggled to relax, but after a few gentle thrusts, my body relinquished its death grip.
His two fingers made way for another. They slid down to the knuckles. I was so ready he could’ve fit his fist in me with a delicious, fluid stretch.
“Oh, Victor,” I breathed, raking my hands through his hair. He was inside of me, and yet still not close enough.
The more he pumped and licked, the more my mind frayed at the edges. Every nerve ending canted to his tantalizing rhythm. He worshiped my clit and conducted sermons between my legs, my broken moans serving as a vulgar amen.
He crooked his fingers and beckoned me closer to the edge.
My legs trembled. But if I let go, I worried I’d crush his shoulder with the weight of my orgasm.
“Victor,” I hissed, grinding on his face despite scrambling to hold myself up. “I can’t.”
Not like this. I’d collapse.
He took my doubt as a challenge. My man surged forward with newfound enthusiasm as if he could eat me out into the next dimension. In some ways, he did.
Gone were the languorous strokes and teasing flicks. My Spider-Man relentlessly stoked my senses. He sucked my clit and tapped that ridged spot inside of me so fast my brain shut off in white-hot pleasure. I keened and cried out, curling over his body. My shoulders slammed into the door. It was too much. It was perfect. The divine ecstasy of an orgasm pulsed through my veins and crowed from my lungs. It leaked out my eyelids. Wetness clawed at my cheeks. I clung to him, shattering. My mind was a million beautiful pieces we could put back together.
Once I wilted, he eased from between my legs and stood. His chin glistened beneath a slightly feral smile. Without his shoulder propping me up, I swayed, still woozy from orgasm.
He helped me upright. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said, slurring with pleasure. His forearms were so sexy. So flex-y. I played with the edges of his cuffed sleeves.
He chuckled and propped us against the door. “Perhaps you should lay down.”
“Is that how you want me?” I teased.
“I want you in all ways, darling.” He lightly pinched my chin, then kissed the corner of my mouth. The little hot spot sent a pleasing shiver down my spine. He was so sweet. So promising. I’d never experienced such a mix of raw sex and tenderness.
I was his darling. His plaything. Somehow, he’d made me feel like I was his everything.
Wanting me in all ways meant he wanted something deep.
Or he wanted to try something kinky. Butt stuff, maybe.
I giggled and slid my hand under his unbuttoned shirt, the planes of his chest hot and smooth. “I want you too,” I rasped.
God, I wanted him endlessly.
He wiped my cheeks and studied my face. Why was he so restrained and concerned when we’d been hot-and-heavy ten seconds ago?
I gasped with realization.
I cried during my orgasm. I was still fucking crying. Was my eyeliner all fucked up? Oh my god, why was I so warm and weepy? I was happy. Ecstatic, actually.
Heat pressed against my eyelids and burned in streaks down my cheeks. I laid my forehead on his shoulder and laughed wetly. “You’ve ruined me.”
He tensed, then stroked my hair. “Well, you’re beautiful, darling.”
A powerful desperation shook my core.
Oh my god, he really had ruined me. I’d never cried during sex. I’d cried the first time a guy used me for it, then pretended I didn’t exist, but I’d gotten the memo after that. This was a second date. Way too early for that shit. What was this fuzzy feeling? This horrible urge to make him fall in love with me? To entice him to stay? To dry my tears and kiss my fears away? Even his voice soothed my worries and stirred emotions. Hormones could bond me to someone who gave me an orgasm, but it’d never been like this. I was wet for him—and not just between my legs.
Sniffling, I blinked back these leaking feelings. “Let me take off my boots. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
“I can help you,” he said, pressing in close.
If he kept this up, we’d never make it out of the living room. I’d fuck him in a sobbing, clingy, 'I love you,' kind of chaos. What were the odds he’d enjoy that?
I pushed him toward the hall, the base of his cross hard under my fingertips. “Go. Last door on the right. I need to use the bathroom, so I’ll be there in a minute.”
“As you wish, milady.” He kissed my lips as if I wasn’t a total mess, then slipped down the hall with that quiet, predatory confidence he had in the theater.
My chest strained with the urge to call him back or rush over and hug him. God, I loved every inch of him, and I hadn’t even seen it yet.
I placed my hand on the door and slipped off my boots, wobbling with want. I had to get it together—at least enough to enjoy finally fucking the guy of my dreams without weeping with joy about it.
His footfall paused. “Oh. Hello, beautiful.”
I blinked and looked over. Was he talking to me?
Victor bowed his head in the light of my open doorway, his bangs sweeping over his face as his voice rumbled in that perfect, bone-shaking temptation. “May I come in?”
My jaw hung open, my heart aflame with understanding.
My Spider-Man, this vampiric gentleman, was also a cat person.