I’m a cat leaning into his touch.
Don’t purr, Scarlet.
Until the warmth of his hand slid along my flesh, I had no idea how much Ineededit. I do.
So. Very. Much.
We have to stop, and we will… as soon as he makes it to second base. Then, I will grab that yam from the top shelf and bid him a goodnight.
“Oh!” I don’t mean to yell, but he forgot second base, and I know this because he has ripped open my trousers—and by ripped open, I mean the button pinged against the tile and myzip will never work properly again—and his hand is down my knickers vying to capture third base. He can’t skip a base.
“You… you’re m-marking me,” I protest with a weak whisper as he sucks and bites at my neck like he didn’t have dinner either.
“You’re fucking driving me insane,” he growls into my neck.
No. He was insane before me. However, I’ll wait a bit to make that case.
Two of his fingers plunge into me, and I forget about hickeys, bite marks, and Japanese yams. My knees forget their job is to keep me standing. I didn’t like his finger retrieving food from my mouth. But its current location? I like it—a lot. Damn my knees for giving out because it forces him to remove his hand from between my legs to steady me. That’s unfortunate. Bollocks!
That thought did not go through my head, did it?
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I love sex. I believe if all emotion and reason were stripped from human existence, the answer to all physical questions would be sex. I know it should be food, too, but I’m starving right now and still, I choose sex.
He lifts me up and I wrap my arms and legs around him as he attacks my mouth again. So deep. So hard. So… angrily.
He carries me upstairs to my bed, and we become a frantic storm of clothes being ripped and discarded. This man hates me. His touch does nothing to hide it. Yet the second my back hits the bed, he plunges his hard cock into me with a deep grunt, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
No easing. No acclimation. Foreplay be damned. He’s punishing me. I can feel it. My existence pisses him off and this is his way of trying to scare me away.
While he fucks me, he whispers in my ear over and over, “This… means… nothing.”
I cling to him, because fuck him… I can use him the way he’s using me. He’s looking for a release, I’m looking for human touch. It’s not love, it’s not even sex. It’s… nothing.
But…as I hold him to my body, the bed creaking, the headboard knocking against the wall, I realize, for me, this iseverything,and that makes tears escape the corners of my eyes. I miss Daniel. I miss my dad. And right now, I’m drowning in the feeling of Theodore Reed’s naked body pressed to mine, the full warmth of him moving inside of me, the buildup of my orgasm, an orgasm I don’t even need. Just thetouch.
“The—ooo!” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath because even something as basic as breathing distracts from this feeling: my body temperature rising and a heavy tingling radiating deep inside, starting right where he’s hitting the most perfect spot over and over. Oh. Dear. God.
“Theo…” his name on my lips drags on forever, like this orgasm. I didn’t need it, but sometimes good things happen when you least expect it. Karma.
The wall takes three more unforgiving collisions with the headboard before Theo collapses on me, releasing the same deep grunt with which he entered me.
The man is not human. I’ve never been manhandled and flipped and fucked so thoroughly in my life. He’s obliterated every emotion I had.
Should I be mad?
Grateful?
I don’t know.
I bet myself he’ll pull out of me and be gone within five seconds. I lose. He waits a full ten seconds before leaving me covered in his sweat. No eye contact. No words.Nothing.
That’s fine because he gathers his clothes from the floor and walks awaynaked. I declare Theodore’s naked backside to be the eighth wonder of the world.
*
The next morningI wake to a tall glass of water and a white pill on the bedside table. I’ve awoken to flowers, pastries and coffee, even the occasional love note, but never water and a white pill. I slip on my shirt and knickers and carry the glass and pill to the kitchen. Theo’s at the table eating porridge, already dressed in his work jeans and T-shirt.
I face the sink, my back to him. “What’s this pill?”
