52. Summer #2
I swallow. “Stranger,” I say, and I can hear the uncertain question in my own voice tensing. This is too much, too intimate.
He opens his eyes, meeting my gaze. “Yes, princess?”
“What are you doing?” I ask. Though it’s not the question I should be asking.
“Letting you feel me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to. ”
I shake my head and look away. “I shouldn’t,” I protest, pulling my hand away.
“Don’t stop,” he says, his voice strained, and I meet his gaze again, seeing the vulnerability there.
My fingers tingle as I think. This is such a bad idea. This is not what I should be doing. I need to get back to where I was before, when I didn’t want him around. Not this. Never this.
“I need it,” he says baldly.
Any resolve I managed to maintain, shatters. “This doesn’t change anything.”
His hand at my waist slides down to cup my ass, and he pulls me close, my body now flush with his. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, little fae.”
I brace my hand on his chest, expecting to feel regret now that he has masked his vulnerability once more, but all I feel is need.
“Touch me.”
“I am,” I say, digging my nails into his chest.
He growls. “More,” he commands, squeezing a large handful of my ass again. This time, his touch is accompanied by a sharp sting. He’s wearing rings, and he’s letting me feel them, allowing them to cut into me.
Thanks to the lingerie, my ass is barely covered, but even the tiny scrap of my thong seems to offend him.
He grips it and twists his hand, ripping it from my body.
It pulls taut against my skin and the swollen flesh between my legs before the fabric gives, and I moan.
My panties are now nothing but a wad of lace in his palm, and suddenly, there is no barrier between us.
I need to stop this, to pull back, but my heart is thundering so loudly in my chest it’s drowning out all reason.
My core throbs so intensely that I can’t think of anything but him and what I want him to do to my body.
He pushes closer, rolling me onto my back, hovering his lips over my neck. His breath tickles the sensitive skin over my thrumming pulse.
Stop him! the last rational part of my brain demands, but I tilt my head for him, inviting him to do more, to take the next step.
He hisses at the small sign of consent and licks my neck, drawing a long moan from my throat.
My eyes roll in pleasure, and all I can think is more, more, more.
He sucks, pulling hard at my skin, and I instinctively arch toward him, molding my body to his.
“The way you feel against me?.?.?.” he groans, and bites me again in the same place he marked me in Hell.
The spot throbs, and I moan, writhing against him.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I hold him to me, needing him to continue.
He seems to pick up on my desperation because he growls against my throat, “Nothing could move me from this spot.” He bites me again, and the pleasure-pain of it ignites every nerve in my body.
I shift beneath him, opening my thighs wide to fit him against the cradle of my hips.
He cups my thigh, hitching my knee high against his side before pressing his cock along my bare pussy.
I moan in frustration, only now realizing he is still wearing pants.
He tangles his hand in my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back as he continues to assault my neck with kisses and bites.
My nails dig so hard into his chest that his sticky, warm blood gathers beneath my fingernails, and my core throbs more at the thought that I have made him bleed for me during a moment of passion, of pleasure.
He runs his nose along my jaw. “You want to rub against me, don’t you, my wicked little fae?”
“No.” It might be the most unconvincing lie I’ve ever told as I drag my nails over his abs.
“Do it, brat.”
I try to resist, but my core is throbbing, and my hips are desperate to rock, needing some friction against my aching clit and desperate pussy, my soaking cunt greedy for anything.
“Rub that pussy against me,” he commands, spanking me, making my hips buck against him. My eyes roll as his hard bulge rubs against my swollen clit. His pants are a delicious, tormenting abrasion, and the pleasure is nearly overwhelming.
He moans. “Feel that, princess?”
“Not enough?.?.?.” My toes curl, and I rock my hips again, needing more friction, needing an orgasm.
“Take it out. Feel it.” He nips at my ear, his words a filthy promise.
“What?” I nearly whine, going tense beneath him, both needing and terrified of taking this step. I am afraid once we cross this line, there will be no going back for me, and I don’t know what that means.
“My cock,” he says, his voice as heavy with lust as mine.
“Stranger?” I ask again, trying to regain control of my thoughts and my body, but he strips it all from me when he takes my hand and slides it into his pants.
I keen, my breath coming in shallow pants as he closes my fingers around the base of his cock.
It seems to thicken a little from the contact, but he doesn’t force my hand to move, letting me lead from here.
“Feel me,” he says, and the words are somewhere between a command and a desperate plea. I look at him, hesitating. “Don’t you want to feel me? To feel the piercings?” He smirks. “They’re engraved.”
I take a breath, and I’m about to slide my hand along his length when I surge awake.