Chapter Seventeen #3
He stepped behind her, shedding every stitch of clothing he wore and fisted his rigid length.
He was hard enough to hurt. He was literally leaking for Lane.
He was throbbing with a need to be inside her.
He placed himself at her dripping entrance and began dragging the head through her folds, feeling her push back against him, seeking his intrusion.
Lennox leaned over her, caging her against the glass with one hand beside hers, the other wrapping around her throat.
“Baby,” he murmured against her ear, his voice dark and dangerous. “Daddy is about to stroke that pussy overlooking this whole goddamn city. You gonna be my nasty slut and take every inch, right?”
Lane moaned, arching her back, presenting herself. “Yes—yes, please—”
He pushed in.
Slow at first, because she was tight and he was thick and he never wanted to hurt her.
Then she pushed back, taking more. Begging for more, and he lost the battle for gentleness.
Lennox drove forward until he couldn’t fit anymore.
Until he was balls-deep inside her and she was keening against the glass as her body fluttered around him.
She was adjusting and accepting everything he gave.
“Fuck,” he gritted out. “Fuck, Lane, you feel—”
“Move,” she begged. “Please, Lennox, move—”
He did.
He pounded into her with the city as his witness.
Their rhythm brutal and perfect. His hand around her throat keeping her pinned and his other hand coming down to smack her ass—hard and then harder again as he watched her fleshy backside jiggle and redden.
Watching the bruises bloom in the shape of his palm made him drive deeper and harder into her.
She took it all, crying out, pushing back to meet every thrust. Her body was milking him and convulsing around him as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her.
“Has anyone ever given you dick this good?” he demanded to know, his voice ragged, his hips snapping against hers.
“No—” she sobbed with tears running down her cheeks. Her mascara was smudged. She was beautiful and ruined and his. “No, never—nobody—”
“That’s because I’m in love with you,” he growled, thrusting deeper, angling to hit that spot that made her scream. “This kind of dick—this kind of worship—it’s only reserved for you, Lane. Only ever you.”
She came again, harder this time, her body clamping down on him so tight he saw stars.
Lennox followed her over the edge while grinding deep and spilling inside her with a shout that echoed through the suite.
It was loud enough to be heard through the city and through whatever was left of the walls between them.
They stayed like that for long moments, forehead to shoulder. Both shaking. Both gasping. The glass cool against her front and his heat burning her back.
Eventually, he withdrew gently and turned her to face him. Lane looked wrecked—hair wild, eyes glassy, lips bitten red, marks on her throat and ass that he’d put there with love and ownership. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever destroyed.
“Shower,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “Come on, baby.”
He led her to the bathroom and started the water. When it was hot and steamy, he stepped inside with her. The space was big enough for them both. Lennox washed her first—soaping her bruises and kissing them—washing away the sweat and the evidence of their filth.
Then Lane went to her knees.
She looked up at him through wet lashes and water streaming down her body, and took him into her mouth.
Lennox groaned, his head falling back against the tile as his hands found her wet hair.
She sucked him like a pornstar—no other word for it—hollowed cheeks, swirling tongue, taking him deep enough to gag and then doing it again.
He loved that her hands were working what she couldn’t fit, her eyes watering, looking up at him with devotion and dirty intent.
“Lane—Lane, I’m close—”
She didn’t stop. She worked him harder, faster, and deeper. When he came with a shout that bounced off the marble, she waited patiently and swallowed every drop. She was milking him with her filthy throat and hands. She didn’t spill a single drop.
When he was spent and shaking and barely able to stand—she rose and he caught her. He was kissing her deeply and tasting himself on her tongue. He carried her out of the shower, and they dried each other with shaking hands.
They made it to the bed finally—sheets turned down, pillows soft, the skyline still watching through the windows but softer now. Lennox pulled Lane into his arms with her back to his chest and her body fitting against him like she’d been carved from his missing pieces.
She fell asleep quickly. Fully satiated, claimed, and safe.
Lennox stayed awake a little longer, whispering his adoration into her hair, kissing her softly—her shoulder, her neck, the shell of her ear.
He told her she was loved. She was his, she was safe, and she was everything.
He promised her tomorrow, and the day after and all the days he had left to give.
Outside, Winston Hills glittered on, indifferent to the love being made in its luxury hotel towers, but Lennox didn’t need the city to witness anymore. He had her and she had him, and that was enough.