With a slight turn, he hits my G-spot. Everything inside me liquifies and puddles in my womb. He rubs over those tight nerves, and a warm wave crashes over me.Throughme. My body vibrates, singing with its own special song as Havoc plays me with those two fingers.
Pressure builds between my legs, tightening the muscles in my thighs. Straining as my body is reaching for something so close. Just out of grasp…
And I keep pumping Havoc’s shaft. Faster. I ache for him to ride this wave with me. I toy with his piercing to hear the different sounds he makes with each tug and twist. But then he grabs my wrist and slams it to the pillow next to my head to hold me still, even as he continues to work my body.
He puts all his weight on my arm, his jaw clenched. “Stop,” he grits out between his teeth.
“Why?” I rasp, so close to orgasm every muscle is about to snap if I don’t come.
Havoc drops his forehead to mine. “Give me a fucking second.”
His hand is a slow and steady torture. A tender agony followed by a quick but fleeting pain when he pinches my clit. He smiles at my gasp, then massages the swollen nub to soothe the shock away, and I dig my nails so deep into his back I’m positive I draw blood. Finally, his breathing settles into a more rhythmic beat, and he kisses me. He uses his whole mouth to dominate mine, and when he frees my wrist, I swing my hand back to his shaft. He rocks his hips, pushing his cock against my palm.
“Havoc, please…” My broken plea falls against his lips.
I don’t know what I’m begging him for as pleasure and need battle inside me.
It’s as if, until this moment, I’ve viewed the world in black and white, and suddenly I’m blinded by a million vivid colors.
Clinging to his massive, muscular body, I hold on with one hand as I ride the crest of ecstasy. Slowly drifting to solid ground only once the last shudder stops. But I keep stroking Havoc. Even when he pulls his hand from my panties and braces himself above me. He locks his arms and stares into my eyes as he jerks his hips to fuck my hand. His growls and groans feral music in the quiet room, his eyes hot enough to burn through the blanket of darkness.
When his body stiffens and the first drops of cum seep from him, I match his rhythm. Glide over him while staring into his eyes. See a world of tragedy and anguish there and try to bring him a fleeting moment of pleasure and peace. He spasms, his heavy cock straining as his orgasm hits, and he floods my hand. His expression never changes. Only a slight curl of his upper lip. A subtle sneer before he yanks my hand out of his wet pants. He rolls away, heaving.
To stare at the ceiling.
I pause for a quiet moment, unsure what to think or how to feel. With my own body still singing from Havoc’s touch, I crawl out from beneath the blanket and shuffle from the room. Havoc doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t say a word as I go to the bathroom to wash. I blink against the flood of light and ogle the stranger in the mirror with the tangled hair and dreamy eyes. Who do these swollen lips belong to? Not me, because I’ve done foreplay and never left a bed dazed like I had full-on sex. Maybe it’s because I never orgasmed from another person’s touch. Not from their fingers or penis.
I’ve faked it, sure, for the sake of my partners’ pride. Never, though, did I come from someone else’s touch—only my own.
And only when I thought about Havoc.
After I finish in the bathroom, I bring Havoc a damp towel. “Here. In case you’re…sticky.”
Lord knows my hand was a mess.
He snatches the towel. “Thanks.”
I climb in bed and look away as he wipes the cum off his stomach. After he tosses the towel on the floor, he goes to leave. “Please stay.”
Common sense dictates Havoc should leave. Obviously, I left good judgment in Brighton.
Havoc doesn’t have to sigh that loud and long. A simplenoorsurewould suffice. One would think I demanded he leap into an active volcano rather than ask him to spend the rest of the night on a comfortable bed. But he kicks off his soiled sweatpants, giving me a murky eyeful of his incredible body before he pulls on a clean pair. If there was a bit more moonlight, I could see him more clearly. Those long, thick, and tattooed legs. The broad torso that tapers to a perfect V. And those arms—thick and corded with muscle. Everything about him is raw power. Terrifying and…thrilling.
This time, when he settles in bed, I keep my distance—until he grabs me and hauls me against him. Spoons me, putting us right back where we started.
“I’m not a good man.” His rough confession barely breaks the quiet.
“I know,” I whisper. “I don’t need a good man.”
As the minutes tick by, Havoc is silent for so long, only the rapid beat of his heart tells me he’s still awake. “I’m going to ruin you.”
Whether it’s a promise or a threat doesn’t matter. “I know that, too.”
“Don’t let me.”
“You understand a friendship works both ways.” Are we friends? I don’t know. We’re something. And after what we did, we blurred a line. “I might be a positive influence on you.”
I’m being flippant.
