Chapter Eighteen #2
I placed both hands on his chest and shoved him back, hard.
He separated from me with a grunt, stumbling back a few steps before catching himself.
His blazing eyes shot to mine and darkened.
Breathing hard, I rushed him, pushing him back a few more steps until his legs hit the back of the couch as I reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head.
His lips were on mine again before I’d even dropped it, hands holding my face against his as his tongue explored my mouth.
I ran my hands up his abdomen to his chest, nails scraping against his skin, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t stop kissing me for a second.
This is a bad idea. This is such a bad fucking idea.
We were both vulnerable, both hurt, both angry, and both so irreparably impulsive. What happened between us wasn’t a slow burn, it was an explosion. A stick of dynamite lighting a match. We were each other’s destruction and neither of us had the presence of mind to fear the ruin.
When my hands found his belt, his gripped my shirt. I heard a rip as the material left my body, tossed somewhere in the dark behind us and forgotten the moment it left my chest. I fumbled with his buckle while he squeezed my breast and trailed kisses in a line below my ear.
No, he didn’t know me, but he didn’t have to. I didn’t want him to. The only thing I needed Harrison Fletcher to know about me was where to touch and when.
Buckle undone, I pulled his belt from his pants and dropped it to the other side of the couch. Before I could reach for him, however, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist, hard. My gaze snapped to his face to find him watching me, jaw tense.
“You sure you want to fuck a Third Ringer?” he asked, eyes flashing with that anger I could feel burning the air between us.
In response, I yanked my wrist out of his grasp, popped the button of his jeans, and reached for the zipper.
But he grabbed me again, grip tighter as he pulled my hand away and used the momentum to spin me until I was the one against the couch.
I fought against the urge to yelp as I found myself pinned between his long legs and the sofa, my face nearly brushing the cushions as he bent me over.
A thrill shot through me, straight to my core, as my knees wobbled with need.
He reached for the waistband of my jeans and pulled down.
I wasn’t aware there was a breeze in this small, dark apartment until it hit my ass.
I squirmed at the cold but was stunned to stillness a moment later when it was replaced by the warmth of his hands, kneading the muscles there as he stepped on the center of my jeans to lock my legs in place.
I heard the zipper next and started panting.
Everything stopped. His hand left my ass and I could feel him there, still standing beside me, his gaze raking over my naked body bent before him, but nothing happened.
“Tell me now if you want me to stop, beautiful,” he said. His usual playful tone was gone, replaced by a devilish snarl that had my toes curling in my boots. “Because in about five seconds, it’s going to be too late.”
I blew a strand of hair out of my face in frustration.
“Har–”
Before I could get his name all the way out, he slammed into me. I cried out in equal parts surprise and ecstasy as he filled me and pulled back out. His hands found my waist, and he held on for leverage as he thrust hard against me from behind.
I’d had my fair share of partners in the past. At first, I’d gone after boys my own age but found dissatisfaction in their inexperience.
So I’d gone older and found men who didn’t seem to know what I meant when I said rough.
They either took it too far or not far enough and that was after a lengthy conversation about boundaries and preferences.
Harrison knew. We’d hardly said a word to one another.
I hadn’t even meant to kiss him. But somehow, he knew.
His fingers tightened around my waist, digging into the skin so hard I knew I would bruise.
I bit my lip until it ached, refusing to let him hear me moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being the cause of my pleasure, even if it was building within me now at a blinding rate.
After a while, when his thrusts became even more insistent, when he reached out and started tugging my hair while holding my back against the couch with one hand, I couldn’t contain it any longer.
I cried out when stars exploded across my vision and my legs tightened so much it hurt.
Harrison followed with a grunt a moment later, plunging into me so deep I nearly came undone again.
We remained fused together for a moment as we caught our breaths. Then he simply stepped back and yanked my pants back up over my ass. When I turned, I found him watching me with the same arrogant smile I’d seen on his lips the first time we met.
“Hope you got what you came for, beautiful,” he said.
Then he backed away down the hall to his room and left me in the middle of his shoddy apartment, panting.