“Oh,fuck.”
“Oh my god,” I moan. I expect movement. More thrusts, more pressure, but he’s still. “You okay?” I manage to ask.
I feel him nod. “I just need a minute.”
“Okay.” I lay still, giving him what he asked for. Though I don’t know if I can even make it that long. I need friction. I need to be stretched and wrung dry. I need him to fuck me like his life depends on it.
A painful grunt rattles his throat, and I feel his heart beating violently against my own. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.”
He inches further in, and I hold back the moan climbing up my throat, trying to remain as patient as possible. But I start to throb around him, and it causes an involuntary contraction that makes his entire body jerk.
“Fuck!Grace, stop.” He sounds so desperate, I wonder if I hurt him. Or if he’s going to cry.
“Can’t help it,” I croak, feeling another quiver that makes him mewl.
He grips my neck, pressing me into the mattress. “You don’t know how to listen, do you?” Another inch deeper, and the sob I was holding back squeezes through the tight hold he has on me.
“Please,” I cry, ignoring what sounded like a threat. But the minute he asked for is up. I can’t wait any longer. “Please just fuck me.”
A low rumble rattles his throat. A growl. An animalistic noise that sends him into a frenzy. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of me, and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. His silver chain starts to brush my nose, and he quickly tucks it between his teeth, and I can’t believe how fucking sexy he is. He stretches my leg, so it pushes against his shoulder, and just like I predicted, spots fill my vision. Things start to grow foggy, and there’s nothing filling my senses except all the addictive, consuming sensations Andrew is making me feel right now.
“You going to give me another one?” his gravelly voice asks, but it’s a demand.
I nod because I definitely am. My body feels like it doesn’t even belong to me. I don’t recognize all the sensations coursing through me.
“Good,” he answers. And, without even a pinch of warning, another orgasm tears through me.
“Andrew,” I plead. “I–I’m?—”
“Fuuuuck!” Andrew howls. A course of curses string out of him, my screams matching the desperation in his voice.
We ride out the high. The gasps and moans swirl with all the senses making our bodies ultra-sensitive. I’ve never felt this kind of pleasure before. I could become addicted to this. Completely and absolutely addicted. In fact, I already want more. I want to feel him thrusting in and out of me. I want him to make me come over and over again. I want to watch him come. In me, on me, wherever and however he wants. I want to sign up to be his sex slave, let him lock me up in a cave for him to use me as he pleases.
But, of course, this is the one and only time this will happen. Tonight. That’s it.
We sag on top of each other, and I feel like my body’s floating four inches above any solid surface. I want it to hover for a little while longer because I don’t think I’m ready to come back down to earth.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace
Insistent thudsthat sound like a gong ring in my ears. Boom, boom, boom. Harsh cannons go off, making not just the inside of my room vibrate, but also my head. This is what it must’ve felt like in thoseLooney Tunescartoons when Wile E. Coyote would get a one-ton anvil dropped on his head. All of my senses are heightened to the point of pain, and I don’t know how to shut it off. Maybe there’s a switch somewhere. Or a cave or dugout I can crawl into. I lift my head off my pillow, and it starts to throb. The room spins, and I can’t tell if I somehow moved an extra identical chaise lounge chair in my room in the middle of the night, or if I’m seeing double.
“Holy shit,” I croak through the frog lodged in my throat. The thuds continue, and they grow louder and more persistent. I feel so discombobulated. Everything feels fuzzy and faint. Like if I were to reach my hand out and try to clear out the murky smoke of my regretful hangover, it would only clear for a second before blurring right in front of me again. And then, just as quickly as another slice of pain cuts across my temples, I’m broken out of the fog of confusion by the sound of a completely foreign groan.
I turn to the other side of my bed to discover a bare back, lined with toned muscles and parts of it covered in tattoos, slowly rising and falling through heavy sighs.
“Holy shit,” I repeat, only this time, there’s more dread filling the two heavy words. Just as the events of last night come rushing back to me. I slept with Andrew. My best friend’s brother. I had sex with him. More than once. And he’s in my bed. Right inside the thick fumes of alcohol and sex radiating from our pores.
“Who is that?” Andrew’s raspy voice demands.
I hear the thuds again, and my head jerks to face the urgent sounds. Someone’s knocking on my door. I grab for the nearest item of clothing, Andrew’s wrinkled Hanes T-shirt thrown haphazardly next to a used condom, and slip it on. I search for some pajama pants in my closet and reemerge while running my fingers through my hair. I don’t know who could possibly be knocking at my door this early in the morning, but whoever it is, I hope I can get rid of them quickly. I hurry to my door, my feet stumbling like Bambi’s first steps while I use the walls for support, and I become even more discombobulated when Buster comes rushing toward me from the living room.
“Grace! Are you home?”
I freeze at the sound of Teeny’s voice. What the fuck is she doing here? Oh my god. I survey my living room. Andrew’s shirt is on the floor with shoes that look very much like men’s dress shoes. I scoop them up in my hands, stopping to grab his wallet and phone sitting on my coffee table, and grip them while Teeny’s voice grows impatient.
“Grace!”
