Chapter 36 - Ginger
Ginger
“Pick. A. Word.”
My eyes flutter shut at the command in his voice, and I try to fight the moan that claws its way up my throat, vibrating against the massive, tattooed hand still wrapped around it.
He pushes closer, all heat, voice low, hard cock pressing into my stomach. “I’m not asking, California.”
My mind spins, and every inch of my body aches for him to take what he so obviously wants. What I so obviously want. I rock my hips, desperate for the slightest amount of friction, but he shoves my hips back with his other hand.
“Now.”
“Sloppy seconds,” I force out, the words rasping through the pressure on my throat, eyes blazing.
It’s two words, low, sharp—meant to cut.
To provoke. I want the spark between us to catch fire because I need to know I’m not the only one burning.
I need to see it in his eyes—that he’s just as wrecked by this as I am, just as desperate, just as ruined.
He freezes and something flashes in his expression, something raw and real and his fingers flex on my neck.
“Too on the nose?” I manage, before he can say anything. I’m desperately obsessed with him. I wish I didn’t love the spark of triumph that flames to life in my chest again at the look on his face.
“Is that what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it?” I mutter. Something in his tone takes a bit of the anger out of me. Dropping my head back against the door, I watch his Adam’s apple roll with a hard swallow.
“You’re jealous of one man barely touching me, but nearly every woman in this fucking town looks at you like you’re theirs. And they’re regularly lining up to audition to be the next in your harem. Hell, maybe all of them already are.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, eyes shimmering with heat before they darken. With one hand around my throat, he leans in, his full lips centimeters from mine, a wicked smile on his face that sets fire to my blood.
His breath fans across my lips, and he tightens his fingers on the sides of my throat when he speaks, voice low and laced with need, “That include you? Way I see it, the only woman in this bar right now begging for my attention is the one trying to rub her desperate little cunt on me.”
“Oh fuck,” I whimper, my eyes rolling back and my body in full shudder.
He growls and spins me roughly by the shoulders before bending me over the sink, my hands braced on the cool porcelain. “You like that, filthy girl? You like pushing me until I lose control with you?”
I can’t speak. Fuck, I can barely think. All I can do is breathe and nod weakly, my lust-dazed gaze locked on his in the mirror.
A frantic hand finds the hem of my dress, and he hikes it up around my waist while he works open his belt buckle with the other. My lungs constrict in anticipation.
“Give me a fuckin’ word, baby, so I can treat you exactly how you want me to. The way I’m dying to,” he grits out, desperation and barely held restraint twisting his deep timbre. “Give me a goddamn word so I can destroy this messy pussy bare, then watch my cum drip out of it.”
Not wanting the fire to die, needing his anger and mine, the passion it brings, how alive it makes me feel, I smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”
His chuckle is deep, menacing. And I love it. I love him, filthy and degrading, and seeing him in control as much as I do seeing him out of it.
He fists a hand in my hair, keeping me bent over, but forcing my head back.
“Did you forget how desperate you were for my cock two days ago? How wet your perfect peachy pink cunt gripped me the other night? How about at Wren’s wedding when I had you pinned outside my parents’ barn, dress hiked up just like it is now.
Me covering your mouth so your slutty little moans didn’t give us away?
Did you forget how you moaned my name over and over again while I fucked you with my tongue?
How hard your nipples were when I stuffed my cock between those perfect lips of yours and came down this tight, hot throat?
Hmm? How about when I painted you with my cum the other night? ”
I’m a whimpering, dripping, writhing mess when he grips my hair tighter, leveraging my head back to bring his lips to mine over my shoulder.
“You gonna tell me you don’t want this?” he murmurs, shoving his hips against me, dragging his mouth down my neck, biting hard enough to make me jolt.
“Get fucked, Hutch,” I hiss out.
God, I feel so high, pushing him. This insatiable ache, this need—I can feel in my bones, my control slipping. I want him to want me so badly that it hurts.
He grins against my skin, savage, breathless.
“I plan to,” he mutters, low and raspy, “and you know what else? I think you like being my pretty little whore…don’t you, California?”
I don’t mean to whimper, but it’s involuntary, like my body knows more than I do and refuses to betray itself. So I nod, barely able to move my head in his grip. It burns so fucking good.
I don’t just like it. I love it.
His eyes find mine in the mirror, and they’re blown wide, the blue almost nonexistent on his gorgeous face, and his voice turns soft, affectionate almost, when he whispers, “Tell me how much, baby. Tell me how much you like being my perfect slut.”
“Mmm,” I whine. “Oh fuck, please,” I plead, needing him to fuck me until I can’t stand up anymore. I sound desperate and I can’t even care.
The hand not wrapped in my hair moves to my throat. “Tell me, Ginger,” he demands softly. “Say it.”
I moan at my name on his lips. I’m not sure which I like more. My name on his lips, or the filthy shit he’s demanding of me. “I like it.”
He growls, thrusting against my ass, hard, powerful muscles driving him forward. “You like what? Open those pretty lips and tell me what you like.”
“I…I like being your pretty little whore,” I gasp out, my nipples pebbling in the thin material of my dress.
“What else?” he growls softly, hot breath sending a shower of goosebumps down my bare arms.
The words come out breathless. “I love being your perfect slut.”
His grin is electric when he whispers into my ear, “Then give me a fucking word so I can take what’s mine.”
My mind is alight with one word and one word only and it’s like a chant.
Green.
Green.
Motherfucking green.
I tilt my head so I can look him in the eyes and breathe out, “Green.”
Yanking down the front of his boxer briefs, he fists his cock, giving me no time to appreciate the delicious length of it before lining up with my soaked entrance.
The groan he lets out is inhuman as he forces his bare length into me in one rough thrust, his hips slamming against my ass.
The force of it drives me forward and I have to catch myself, so I don’t smash my face into the mirror.
He pulls out almost to the tip and drives back in, fucking me slow and hard, grunting in pleasure. “You look so perfect right now, taking my cock like you were born to do it.”
My hands scramble for purchase on the slick porcelain, his body bowed over mine, but I match his thrusts, pushing back against him, broken cries and whimpers mixing with cursing and grunts from behind me.
He fucks me ruthlessly, and I take every inch, every thrust, desperate to make this last as long as possible.
The way he stretches me open is heaven, pleasure and pain searing through my veins, pushing me higher, faster, brighter.
I’m so fucking high on Hutch Hayes and the way he commands my body that I can think of nothing else.
Only the heat and slick slide of his cock inside me, his moans, my whimpers.
It’s all one filthy blur and I know no one will ever make me feel like this.
“God, I love you like this,” he rasps out, reaching forward to find my clit. “Pissed off, wet and needy as fuck. You know how hot that is?”
“Faster,” I moan. “Harder. Please, fuck me harder.”
Hutch grabs my hip with one hand, the other still fisted in my hair, pulling me back against him as he drives into me, fast and filthy.
“You feel that?” he pants, fucking into me so hard the counter creaks. “This is what me being jealous gets you, California. You bent over this sink, taking every inch of my cock. Me giving you exactly what you want, what we both want. Fuck.”
His words—the change in angle, the feel of his breath on my neck—have me choking on a cry. His hand slips from my throat to slap a big palm over my mouth, muffling the broken sounds tearing out of me as his other hand works me mercilessly.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Come for me.”
I do—with a gasp I can’t contain, my cry spilling into his palm, body clenching tight around him as everything inside me shatters. My legs shake, fire rushing through my veins as his name echoes in my head like a prayer.
He groans behind me, hips stuttering. “Fuck.”
Then he's gone, grinding into me, rhythm wrecked, pounding so hard the cheap mirror rattles against the wall.
“Shit. Fuck. Gonna…come,” he pants.
And he does with a deep grunt against the back of my neck, his hold on my waist bruising, grounding.
We stay like that for a breathless second—my body still twitching with aftershocks, his chest heaving against my back, heartbeat thunderous.
Slumped back against him, breathing hard, my eyes meet his in the mirror, looking half-wrecked and completely undone for this man behind me.
God, he’s gorgeous like this—wild hair, flushed skin, towering over me, still buried deep inside.
“You fuck with my head, California,” he mutters against the side of my neck. “I see some asshole breathe too close to you, and I want to break something.”
My chest tightens at the sound of it. Like a truth he didn’t mean to say out loud.
I feel myself cracking open.
He grinds his hips once, slow and filthy, pulling a gasp from my lips before his softening cock slips out of me with a wet drag. I can feel it almost immediately, his cum warm on my thigh, thick and messy.
He watches it in the mirror for a beat, and then his hand comes to my waist, gently turning me to face him.
My legs are shaking, panties still around my ankles, dress around my waist, skin flushed. I feel filthy and worshipped at the same time.
Hutch drops to his knees in front of me. His palms slide up my thighs, thumbs parting my pussy enough so he can watch.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice raw. His eyes flick up to mine. “You know how fucking good that looks?” His voice is hoarse. “Perfect cunt swollen, thoroughly fucked and dripping with me?”
I watch, stunned and aching, as he swipes two fingers through the slickness of our combined arousal, gathering everything he left behind.
His brows twitch as he uses two fingers to push it back inside me, slow and deep, like it’s something precious.
I grip the edge of the counter behind me, biting down a moan.
He rises slowly, fingers trailing up the insides of my thighs as he stands. Then he pulls my panties up with deliberate care, soft silk and lace sliding over my hypersensitive skin.
“Jesus,” I whisper, loving every filthy thing that came from this man’s mouth. Leaning into him, my legs like Jell-O.
He chuckles low and filthy, tipping his chin down to kiss the curve of my shoulder. Slow, warm, lingering. “You good, baby?” he rasps against my ear, wrapping his arms around me.
Baby. I melt at the word, and it scares me, and maybe I should push him away, put some distance between us and whatever this is, but I can’t. The way he’s looking at me, tender and sweet after the absolutely brutal way he’d fucked me, is doing weird shit to my stomach and my heart.
“Still wanna give that guy a chance?” he asks, voice low against my skin, but the fight’s gone. All heat now—something quieter, too.
I want to say no. I was never going to do anything with that guy. But I still pushed him.
And I got exactly what I wanted.
His attention. His hands. That flash of possessiveness I crave like oxygen.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You’re the one who got all territorial because someone looked at me.”
His jaw ticks. “He touched what’s mine and then you teased me with it.”
“And it worked.”
He lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half growl.
I bite back a grin.
His eyes search mine and his voice is rough, vulnerable. “Come home with me.”
My breath hitches, his thumb ghosting over my bottom lip.
“Please?” he asks, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to my lips, no heat, no tongue. Just a simple kiss.
I let out a soft sated sigh and nod, then press my forehead to his and hope I don’t regret it. “Okay.”