“No. Your mouth is one of the best parts of you.”
And if the statement hadn’t silenced me, his mouth would have because he’s back to it again, kissing me in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else but him, and the way his body brushes over mine. I feel his knuckles dragging their way down over my stomach, sliding lower and lower until he parts me. He starts stroking me softly in rhythm with his mouth, the pads of his fingers teasing the sides of my clit, giving me just enough to want more.
He releases my mouth and kisses his way down my throat and over my chest, never missing a beat of his rhythm, and then takes my nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over the tip until I arch my back up off the bed. He grazes his teeth over it, and then moves over to the other, sucking harder until I start to feel the edge of pain. I gasp a little and he releases it.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against my skin, kissing a trail to my stomach.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” His fingers slide south, slipping inside and stroking me.
“Start with the charm,” I fight to say the words against the hint of a moan I’m trying to stifle.
“That all it takes to charm you? Some asshole telling you you’re beautiful? You’re fucking the wrong guys, Princess.”
“And you’re the right guy?” I laugh, but he swipes his thumb over my clit, and it takes the breath out of me.
I feel his weight shift over me, and his breath down my neck. Knowing his eyes must be watching me but not knowing how or where makes me shift a little under his touch.
“You tell me, Princess. Because you hate my guts and yet you’re naked and underneath me right now, moaning and writhing while you clench around my fingers. Feels like this little cunt of yours is starved for some good cock. So am I the right one or not?”
I hesitate only for half a second before I admit the truth.
“Yes.”
He kisses me then, rough, less practiced than before and I kiss him back. It feels like a pact. Like we’ve both agreed to do something that we both know is terrible and a very bad idea, but we can’t back out now.
“I’m gonna get a condom. Ass up, face down for me when I get back, Princess,” he bites out before he jumps off the bed.
SIX
Easton
I watchher as she does what I asked while I roll the condom on, how compliant she is with the request, how eager she is to have me inside her. The way she looks with the long line of her back extended and her round ass in the air. Waiting for me. Waiting for the guy she hates so much that she literally berated me tonight before we got in the shower. I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing exactly, but I’m not stopping either.
It’s been such a long time since I wanted a woman this badly, so long I can’t remember. I don’t know if it’s my fucking ego that needs her to want it as bad as I do or something else. Can’t figure out why I’m so focused on her in particular when she’s right, there are a dozen other girls who would be in my bed in a second if I texted them. But I can’t help myself. I want what I want.
“Easton?” she asks, turning her head, still blindfolded, toward me.
The sound of my name on her lips with her looking like this pours gasoline on the fire.
“Yes,” I say, finally crossing the room to her again, climbing back on the bed and kneeling behind her.
“Fuck me.Now,” her voice laced with impatience.
I want to argue. There are so many other positions I want her in. So many other ways I want to touch her, take her, have her, so I can feel like I got the full experience before she tells me how much she hates me again. But I can’t. I don’t have the willpower. Not tonight.
So I slide inside her, inch by inch, while I grab her hips and she pushes back against me, a little gasp comes from her when I’m all the way in. And I can’t help but groan when I feel her clench down on me.
“You feel so fucking good, Princess. So-fucking-tight,” I grit out.
I test her once, sliding in and out slowly, and she moans softly, almost inaudibly. Pulling one of the pillows she has closer and burying her face in it. I smirk because I imagine the conversation we’re going to have about this later. One where she tells me she could barely feel it, that I imagined things, and I remind her of how much she moaned every time I moved.
I run my fingertips over her hips as I start to rock into her, setting a rhythm as she starts to counter me in shorter strokes. Her hands tighten around the edges of the pillow, gripping it as I take her faster and harder.
“I want to fucking hear you.” Because I don’t want her to deny me this. I know she’ll never tell me in plain words, but she can at least give me this.
She shakes her head and then buries it again, instead rolling her hips and urging me on to a quicker pace.
