Just like last time. While Mac is the first guy I’ve ever had sex with, the moment he told me to come, I started spurting instantly.
Pushing the memory away, especially when it ignites a fire in my veins that causes my dick to get hard, I focus on the spread laid out. Soup, bread, some green stuff . . . It’s all screaming my name.
Talk about making me feel guilty. He’s the one who saved my ass and now, he even cooked for me.
“Mac, about yesterday—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
As he secures the handcuff around my wrist, a surge of electricity courses through me at the mere touch of his fingers, heat licking over my skin. When I look up, our eyes lock, and there's this . . . ache, this pull that I can't quite explain, but damn, it's there, and it's strong.
Without even meaning to, I let out a little squeak.
Mac just shakes his head and walks to the other side of the table where he sets the shotgun aside before dropping into his chair and crossing his arms. "This time’s gonna cost you more."
“What do you mean? I thought it was like last time. Food for . . . you know.”
“You stupid fuck. Ya nearly got killed, cost me five bullets, and are about to eatmyfood.”
“How much more?” My stomach growls, the aroma from whatever he cooked invading my nose.
“Two hours.”
“No way.” What the fuck can even take that long?
The last time we had sex it only took fifteen minutes.
Mac’s rough, wild almost, and even that quick, he’d made my entire body light up from my toes to my scalp. My balls clenched so hard when I came. And the way my asshole spasmed around him, making my knees weak . . . I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.
While I still can’t fathom what we’re supposed to do—whathe’sgoing to do—for two whole hours, not so sure I’m ready to find out how I’ll respond, how I might embarrass myself.
My palms start to sweat.
Uh, uh.
I yank at the cuff, staring at the older man.
He’s maybe twice my age and bigger than me in height and mass. And even though his thick black hair has a bit of gray on the sides, he’s stupid fast. Learned that the hard way. No chance I’m grabbing the food and outrunning him.
“Let me go.”
“Not happening.”
I jerk at the cuffs again. “Mac, let me go!”
“Weren’t you just yellin’ outside how if I shoot you, then I wouldn’t get to fuck you?”
I roll my eyes. “Doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Or that I want to do it for two hours.”
It’s all bullshit.
Well, mostly.
The idea of that much time, of being his—belonging to him—makes my mouth feel like the damn desert, and my thighs clench together.
The corner of his eye twitches and he stands, taking his shotgun with him to the counter without another word. “Nah, just want some dumb bitch to ride your cock.”
Great, now I feel like a jerk.
