Chapter 12 #2
“You’re so fucking unfair,” she whines, voice wrecked, mouth pressed to my skin. “You walk around all lost and shirtless and sweet and you expect me not to lose my goddamn mind?”
Her tongue flicks against my sternum, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Carol—fuck—”
She bites just under my collarbone, not hard, just enough to make me feel it, to remember it later. My hand tangles in her hair, her gold strands fisting between my fingers as she moves lower, kissing over my ribs, my stomach, her hands gliding up my sides, possessive.
I can barely breathe.
“You think I didn’t notice?” she murmurs against my skin. “You, walking around in my too-tight sweats. All wide-eyed and broody, smelling like my goddamn shampoo—fuck you.”
“Baby,” I gasp, rolling my hips down into hers, “you think I haven’t been hard since the first night in that bed?”
She moans—moans—at that, grinding up against me, dragging her nails down my back, and I’m gone.
Every second of holding back?
Yeah, that’s dead now.
And I’m not being good anymore.
I fumble with her shirt, one hand doing all the work while the other—fucking casted, useless thing—just hangs there like dead weight. I curse under my breath, frustrated and needy, trying to get to her, to touch her, to peel the last layer between us and see her.
She just smirks—this wicked, knowing little grin—and takes over.
One motion. Shirt over her head. Gone.
And holy fucking shit.
I forget how to breathe.
No bra. No hesitation.
Just her. All soft, golden skin, flushed and warm, bare to me like a fucking prayer. Her tits—perky, perfect, fucking art—taut pink nipples staring me down like they know I want them in my mouth, on my tongue, under my hands. Like they’re just as desperate as I am.
And it hits me.
She’s here. With me.
With a man who doesn’t even know his goddamn name. A man with no past, no future, nothing to offer but his hands and his mouth and whatever the fuck this feeling is blooming in his chest like wildfire.
“Jesus, Carol,” I whisper, voice ragged. “You’re so fucking beautiful…”
Her breath hitches.
My hand moves before I can think, palm cupping one breast—just like I thought, a perfect fit, warm and soft and heavy. My thumb brushes her nipple and she shudders, bites her lip, arches into my touch like I’m exactly what she needed.
“Fuck,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Touch me, Crash. I want all of it. I want you.”
I lean in, kiss the swell of her breast, her sternum, then close my mouth around her nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking—her hips twitch beneath me, a whimper slipping out so pretty it makes my cock ache.
And I can’t stop.
I won’t.
I want to memorize every inch of her, make her feel how much I want this—want her—even if I don’t know where I came from.
Because right now?
She’s the only fucking thing I do know.
She’s fire. She’s heat and hunger and holy-fuck-yes.
Her hands move with purpose, impatient and skilled, working the button of my thrifted jeans like she’s done this in a hundred different dreams already.
The denim gives, the zipper pulled slow, teasing.
I’m panting by the time she slides her palm against me, over the briefs, her touch maddening—just pressure, not enough friction, not nearly enough.
And fuck, I lose it. My hips twitch into her hand, a curse torn out of me, low and strangled through grit teeth. “Shit, Carol—”
She grins, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, breath shaky against my throat. Then her hand flexes over me again and she feels it. The size of me. How fucking hard I am for her. How close I am to just losing my mind.
“Jesus,” she whispers, voice broken with disbelief and so much want. “I knew you were big, but… not like this.”
She drags her hand up the length through the cotton, slow and reverent, like she’s testing the weight of it. Her thumb brushes the head and I groan, head dropping to her shoulder, my whole body shivering.
“Not fair,” she murmurs, kissing under my ear. “No name, no past, walking around with this monster cock, acting like it’s just another Tuesday—fuck, Crash…”
Her fingers hook the waistband and she pulls, underwear dragged down with the jeans in one practiced motion. My cock springs free, heavy and flushed, and she stares, lips parted like she’s just discovered some forbidden treasure.
“Oh my god,” she breathes.
“Carol…” I warn, trying to keep control, but it’s fucking useless. I’m hanging by a thread and she’s sawing through it with every stroke, every little noise she makes, every second she keeps looking at me like she wants to devour me.
She wraps her fingers around me—bare now, her palm hot and smooth—and I swear I black out for a second.
Stars behind my eyes. Muscles tight. Breath gone.
“Baby,” she breathes, almost a moan, almost a prayer, “you’re too fucking pretty…”
And I need her. Now.
Need her naked and straddling me, need those tiny fucking shorts gone.
I fumble at them, one hand clawing down her hips, desperate, but clumsy as hell with the goddamn cast.
It’s more frustrating than anything, makes me growl low in my throat.
I’m so close to just ripping the fabric off with my teeth.
But she sees it.
She sees everything. The panic, the want, the helpless need radiating off me.
“Easy,” she whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth, then rolls us in one fluid move, climbing on top of me like she was born to ride me. “I got it, baby.”
Her hands leave my cock and I mourn it instantly—until she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of those cotton shorts and peels. Slow. Teasing. She lifts up, hips rolling, ass shifting in this gorgeous curve, and pushes them down, panties clinging to her slick for a heartbeat before they drag away.
And then she’s bare.
And I’m fucking ruined.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
All curves and heat and smooth golden skin.
Tits bouncing slightly as she straddles my thighs, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
Her pussy’s on display, pink and puffy and soaked.
A trimmed patch of soft blonde curls above it like a crown.
Slick catching the light, clinging to her inner thighs.
A trail of it gleaming from her slit to the panties tossed aside, proof of how wrecked she already is for me.
“Fuck…” I whisper, eyes locked on her cunt. “You’re dripping…”
Her grin is crooked, dark. She leans down, rubs her wetness against the length of my cock, teasing, spreading her slick over me like a filthy invitation.
“Think I’ve been wet since the moment you called me baby,” she purrs.
She says it like a confession wrapped in heat, “Think I’ve been wet since the moment you called me baby,” and then—
Then she fucking pulls a rubber from somewhere. Like she’d planned this. Like she knew we were gonna end up here, tangled in each other, panting and wrecked and so far past pretending.
And she makes a show of it.
Slides down between my legs, her hand wrapping around my cock again, smooth and slick, and she strokes me—slow, teasing, base to tip with a twist at the end that makes my hips jerk.
Then she leans in, tongue flicking out, mouth wrapping around the head of my cock for one perfect second—just enough to drive me fucking insane—before she slides the condom on, one slow, wicked roll of latex that leaves me shaking.
“Jesus fuck, Carol—”
She kisses the inside of my thigh, sinful little smirk on her face, then climbs back up, straddling my thighs again like she’s done this a thousand times in her dreams.
Her fingers brush through my hair, light and soft, contrast to the fire in her eyes, the heat pulsing between her legs.
One hand presses to my shoulder, grounding me.
And then she says it.
Low. Soft. Deadly serious.
“Ready?”
Her voice is silk and smoke, and it’s not just about the sex—it’s everything. It’s the choice. The moment. Giving me an out. Like if I said no, she’d stop, hold me instead. Like she’d protect me even now, even half-naked and soaked and straddling my cock.
But all I see is her.
All I want is her.
My hand slides up her thigh, thumb brushing where she’s wet and trembling.
I look her dead in the eye.
“Ride me, Carol.”
My voice comes out rough. Shaky. Wrecked.
She moans right into my mouth—this desperate, wrecked little sound that makes my cock twitch—and then she’s there, lining us up, the head of my cock nudging against her soaked entrance, and—
Fuck.
She sinks down.
Not all at once. Not fast. Slow. Like she knows what she’s doing to me. Like she’s savoring it, savoring me. Just the tip at first—just enough to drive us both out of our fucking minds. Her cunt grips me, so tight, so goddamn warm and wet that it sends a fucking shockwave through my spine.
My hand is full of her ass, kneading, grounding myself before I lose control completely. She’s trembling, every muscle in her thighs taut, her fingers threading in my hair, tugging, her chest rising and falling in short gasps as she lowers herself inch by inch.
Her forehead presses to mine, lips brushing, kiss soft, shaking, intimate. Her eyes locked on mine, wide and dark and holy shit, she’s beautiful. Her hair falls around us like we’re in our own little universe, gold and flushed and hungry.
“So big…” she hiccups out, voice cracking, thighs quivering around my hips.
“Fuck, Carol,” I rasp, holding her tighter, thumb stroking over the small of her back, “you’re so fucking tight… I can feel every inch of you.”
She shudders—actually shudders—at that, hips rocking just slightly, drawing more of me in. Her walls flutter around me, and I swear I almost lose it right then and there.
“Can’t take it all…” she gasps, rocking again, “fuck, you’re just—too much—”
“You can,” I growl, voice raw, eyes on her trembling lips, her flushed chest, the way her nipples tighten with every breath. “You will. I want to feel you take every inch, baby.”
She bites her lip, moans my name, and slides down farther, inch by greedy inch, her cunt gripping me like it was made to. Her body stretching, adjusting, trembling through it. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Her breath catches.
And then she bottoms out.
Buried.
Full.
Mine.