23. Thank God for Latex
Selene
My breath is still a broken mess. My mind is foggy, my body pulsing with aftershocks.
Ron pushes himself up, towering over me.
"Hmm..." he murmurs. That adorable, expressive little crease forms between his eyebrows. "So I guess you hate me too much to want me inside you."
Fucking bastard.
He's playing a game, and he's damn good at it.
I swallow, trying to scrape together a shred of my dignity. "Tell me you have a condom," I shoot back, praying he doesn't try to make a point and, more importantly, that he actually has one on hand.
In response, without saying a word, Ron looks down at his hips and gives them a shameless flick, making his hard cock bounce in the air.
"Real mature," I grumble, rolling my eyes so hard I'm afraid I might catch a glimpse of my own optic nerve.
"Yeah, well..." Ron reaches for his wallet and fumbles for a second, pulling out a little foil square. "To your misfortune, or immense luck, I was strongly hoping to do this with you again."
Praise the universe, the stars, and any listening deity. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a condom in my entire life.
He tears the wrapper open with his teeth—a move that makes me squeeze my thighs together—and starts rolling the latex down his length.
I watch him, mesmerized. And I swear, I have never seen anything more erotic than this.
I must have hit my head, because, let's be real...
how the hell is a guy sheathing his cock sexy?
And yet, the way his hands grip his own flesh, wrapping around that thick girth and rolling the latex all the way down to the base with confident strokes... God, my mouth is watering.
As soon as he's done, he moves. He comes over, grabs my ankle, and gives my leg a sharp tug, dragging me down the mattress until I'm completely trapped beneath his body.
The friction of his hot skin against mine fries my brain. I'm already humming with pleasure again, just feeling his weight.
Ron settles between my knees. He rubs the hard, smooth head of his cock right against my opening—already slick and throbbing for him—without actually entering me. A shaky sigh slips from my lips.
Instead of sinking in, he ducks his head. His hot, wet tongue starts tracing a path up my body. He starts at the side of my breast, draws a line across my collarbone, trails up my neck, and stops right below my ear.
A violent shiver covers me in goosebumps as his lips part against my earlobe.
"No missionary this time," he whispers.
Bastard.
Fucking, diabolical bastard. I knew he'd done that on purpose.
Without waiting for a reply, he grabs my right leg and lifts it, hooking my calf right over his shoulder. It's an angle that opens me up completely.
He glides his length against my slit again, spreading my wetness.
Then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushes inside.
The only sound in this room is the wet noise of him making room for himself inside me. He fills me with torturous slowness, stretching me, spreading me, until I am completely full of him.
Right down to the very last inch.
When our hips meet, Ron stops for a second. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and lets out a long, shaky exhale.
"Christ," he pants against my skin. "I missed you."
Me too.
I mean... um. Not him. Of course not. But the insane way he has sex. That, yes. This man's supernatural ability to take a demon and drag her straight to heaven.
He brings his left hand to my breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb, right as he finally starts to move.
The first thrust is deep, devastating. He pulls back until he's almost entirely out, only to drive back inside with a force that makes my spine arch. The angle of my leg over his shoulder lets him hit that exact, deep, sensitive spot that makes me see stars behind my closed eyelids.
The wet slap of our sweaty bodies crashing together turns into a hammering, primal rhythm.
His hand slides off my breast. It trails up my throat, spreads out, and wraps around my neck.
He stops. He doesn't squeeze.
He looks me in the eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily, and gives me a mute nod, a silent question in his gaze, waiting to see if I'm okay with this, if it's a boundary he can cross.
In response, I can't help but let out a husky moan, tilting my chin up to bare my throat for him.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he growls, his face tight with pleasure, and he sinks even deeper into me, rocking the bed. "You can't even imagine... how amazing it feels to be inside you."
I bite my lip, trying desperately to mask the impact of those words.
"Yeah..." I pant. "I imagine anything capable of squeezing your cock feels amazing. How about you squeeze my throat a little tighter, speaking of which?"
He obliges instantly, closing his fingers around my throat. The calculated pressure cuts off just enough air to make the sensation of pleasure burning through my core explode. But his gaze isn't compliant. It's fierce.
"Absolutely not," he answers, his eyes boring into mine. "With you, it's unique." He thrusts, ripping a cry from my lips. "You're perfect."
It's unique.
You're perfect.
No one has ever said things like that to me. Never. Not even to get me into bed.
I feel a pang in my heart that has absolutely nothing to do with lust. I close my eyes, turning my face into the pillow, and desperately try to build a wall around those words so I don't let them cut too deep into my chest.
But Ron doesn't give me time to think.
He keeps driving into me, and the brutal rhythm of his thrusts sweeps away every rational thought, making me lose my mind completely.
I look down, my vision blurred by the sheer vertigo of pleasure.
I look right there, at the exact spot where our bodies join and collide.
His chiseled abdomen, tense and slick with sweat, his flexed muscles sloping down in a perfect line to his groin.
I watch him thrust forward and disappear completely inside me, his thick length swallowed by my swollen, wet core, only to pull back and plunge inside again.
Nothing in my entire life has ever been this incredible.
The sound filling the room is filthy, wet.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Skin against skin. His hand, still wrapped around my throat with deliberate firmness, regulates my oxygen, sending me into a state of feverish euphoria.
His other hand firmly grips my thigh, keeping my leg anchored high, hooked over his shoulder, while he drives his hips with a ruthlessness that tears my mind right out of my skull.
I feel the friction of his length sliding against my inner walls, stretching me, filling me until I gasp for air.
"Are you watching me, Selly?" he pants. "Do you like taking all of it?"
I part my lips, gasping for air. I can't lie. "Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulder. "Yes, fuck, Ron."
"Say it again," he orders. He loosens his grip on my neck just enough to let me breathe, only to drive back in with a thrust so deep and brutal. "Tell me how much you want it."
"I want it," I whimper, losing my last shred of dignity. Pleasure is a flame consuming me from the inside. Every thrust hits the exact spot that drives me crazy. "I want you. Move. Don't stop."
He obeys. He abandons his last shred of self-control, and the pace turns frantic, animalistic.
Every drive is a declaration of possession.
His hips slam against mine with relentless fury.
I feel the heat of his chest brushing my bare breasts, the burning friction between my legs turning into a delicious torture.
Tension builds in my lower belly, a dense, white-hot mass ready to detonate.
My walls start to quiver, involuntarily squeezing around his hard cock.
"You're so fucking tight," Ron hisses through clenched teeth.
I see the muscles in his neck strain under the effort, his veins pulsing with adrenaline.
He grips both of my hips, his fingers leaving red marks on my pale skin, and accelerates. "Come for me, Selene."
I don't need any more thrusts. My resistance crumbles to dust. "Ron!" I scream his name, unable to stop it.
The orgasm crashes over me with the violence of a hurricane.
My core explodes in violent, uncontrollable spasms, clamping down and milking his length with every single, devastating contraction.
Waves of thick, blinding, liquid pleasure radiate from my groin to the tips of my toes, leaving me deaf and blind to everything but him.
Ron lets out a low grunt. He stops moving. He squeezes my hips, lifting me slightly against him to bury himself as deep as possible, right to the hilt, and his body goes rigid in a brutal climax.
My leg slips weakly from his shoulder. Ron collapses his weight over me, burying his sweaty face in the crook of my neck.
Slowly, his hand slides from the mattress and reaches up to caress my face, brushing my hair away from my cheek with a gentleness that brings a lump to my throat. He lifts his head just a fraction and kisses the skin of my neck, a tired, wet kiss loaded with a gratitude that shatters me.
"Shit, Selene," he whispers, his voice fractured, still breathless. He nuzzles his nose against my temple. "You're fucking indescribable."
I don't answer.
And as my heart struggles to slow its frantic racing against his bare chest, I desperately try not to think about how terrifyingly, absolutely safe I feel pinned beneath his weight.
Then Ron shifts with a heavy sigh, freeing me of his weight but not actually moving away.
He disposes of the condom and collapses onto his back on the mattress, pulling the duvet up to cover us both.
He doesn't give me time to pull back or retreat to my corner; his arm slides under my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side.
I stay rigid for a moment, my cheek resting against his muscular chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. His fingers play lazily with a strand of my hair.
"No one has ever eaten you out before, have they?"
The question drops in the dark.
I gasp. I feel heat flare across my cheeks again, this time from pure mortification. I go rigid against his side, trying to hide my face. "You already asked me your question today," I murmur defensively.
I feel his chest vibrate with a silent laugh. "Nah," he counters, his tone drawling and amused. "It was the middle of the night when I asked you. So that was yesterday's question, not today's."
I lift my head to glare at him. "Technically, that's not correct at all, Willers. It was past midnight."
He arches an eyebrow, flashing a cheeky grin. "My game, my rules."
"Your rules suck," I hiss, narrowing my eyes.
"Well?" he presses, undeterred, completely ignoring my attempt to sidestep. His thumb moves, caressing my bare shoulder.
I drop my gaze to the duvet.
"I guess you can laugh at me now," I whisper.
Ron's hand stops. His playful expression vanishes instantly. "Why on earth would I laugh at you, Selene?"
I bite my lower lip, hating feeling so exposed. "Because... I mean, I'm pathetic enough to have never had that done to me before."
A heavy silence falls between us.
Then, Ron props himself up on his side. He cups my chin with two fingers, forcing me to lift my face to meet his gaze.
"If anything," he says, his voice low and hardened with palpable contempt, "the real pathetic ones are the men you've been with until now. They have absolutely no idea what they missed out on."
His thumb caresses my cheekbone.
"And besides..." he murmurs, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips again, "in a way, I'm incredibly happy that I was the first and only one to make you feel like that. I don't like to share."
My lips part, my heart skipping a beat.
"You're definitely way too soft and sweet to say something like that and sound believable, new-cowboy."
His smile turns into a feral grin. "Wait until you see me if someone touches my woman, and then we'll talk."
Thump.
A sharp, powerful hit right to the center of my heart.
My woman.
I know it's not true. I know I'm not his woman. But... it feels amazingly good to feel like I am. Even if it's just for tonight. For this single night in the dark, I want to be his woman.
Suddenly, Ron moves.
He pulls me against him, grabbing me by the waist, pressing my back flush against his chest and wrapping his arms around my stomach, tucking me perfectly against him.
I gasp in surprise, his warm breath tickling the nape of my neck.
"W-what are you doing?" I stammer, my body a bundle of nerves.
"Getting my cuddles," he murmurs, burying his face in my hair, squeezing me a little tighter against him.
And in the rain-cradled silence, our unwritten pact is made.
I don't dare point out that he's the one clearly cuddling me.
And he, for his part, has the good sense and tact not to point out that I'm not pushing him away at all.
That I broke my own rule and am abandoning myself to the heat of his skin without putting up the slightest resistance.
And we fall asleep like that. Tangled together.
Or, at least... I do.