He waved his hand dismissively.
“At the clubhouse, sure, that’s where the boys are. Over there, I’m Satan, president of the Devil’s Patriots. But here, I’m just my own man, and I like the quiet.”
“Interesting.”
He turned around and looked down at me. Those eyes…the intensity of his gaze was something else. It made my feet turn to bricks, but even if they had turned into slick ice, I wouldn’t have wanted to move them. His gaze was both captivating and alluring, the kind of thing that put you on the spot and made you want to stay there.
His hand grabbed my hip and pulled me into him. I could feel the bulge of his pants pressing into my hips. I wanted our clothes off so badly. There was no more wasting—
He lifted me up, his hands squeezing my ass. I let out a yip that got muffled by his lips pressing into mine, and before I knew it, he was carrying me up the stairs. I was a small girl, but holy shit this was a lot of strength on his part.
When we finally got to the top, he let me down, though his hands never left my ass—not that I wanted them to. He led me down a hall, and I thought I saw his bedroom at the end of the hall, but at the last second, he swerved me to the left, to a relatively nondescript room with satin sheets.
It was a nice room, don’t get me wrong. The bed was made, the room smelled fresh and clean, and there were beautiful photos and paintings on the wall. I was just momentarily curious as to why he hadn’t taken me to his main room.
But such thoughts disappeared when he pushed me to the bed and, en route to kissing me, his hand slid under my shirt, under my bra, and started massaging and squeezing my breasts. This was another reason I thoroughly preferred Satan. I was all for consent and patience, but at some point, a man just had to take what had clearly been offered as his. In the past, boys had been so slow as to nearly kill the mood.
Satan was so fast as to elevate it. He moved up to kiss me as our hips ground against one another. Oh, that fucking bulge!
I reached down to cop a feel, not that there was much to feel with his jeans and presumably boxers in the way. Still, I got a hint of an outline, and that outline…holy fucking shit.
He started to kiss my neck, an especially sensitive and arousing spot. Oh my God, I was this close to trying to pin him on the bed so I could suck him off. No, I didn’t care if he had that much more strength than me. I would fucking make it happen!
He then sat back and pulled off his shirt. I didn’t know many men in their mid-to-late thirties who looked so good, but Satan had a better body than anyone I had ever seen. There were some scars that had me a bit curious, but other than that, there was no sign that he’d gotten overweight or aged. He may have been a beer-guzzling, pizza-eating, steak-gorging biker, but he knew how to lift weights and keep himself in firm shape.
“I can’t be ahead of you,” he growled.
I leaned forward, and he pulled off my top before swiftly removing my bra. Just like that, I was shirtless. It happened so quickly that I could hardly believe it; had I forgotten to clasp my bra entirely?
Or was Satan just that good that it didn’t make a lick of difference?
Our bodies pressed against each other. The temperature rose on me. His body was so warm and so hot, both literally and in the looks of it. I could have just used him as a blanket all night if I got cold.
He reached down beneath my pants, found my panties, and brushed them aside. His fingers wasted no time tracing down my clitoris, reaching my pussy, and then digging inside.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasped.
He wasn’t getting me excited. He wastakingme. I was his.
I fucking loved it.
Oh, fuck, this was some of the best sex ever. Barely able to breathe, I looked straight into those eyes again, and once more, I felt paralyzed in the best sense possible. His eyes left no doubt that he was in charge; I was by no means a super dominant personality in bed, but I could be feisty.
Not with Satan. He was setting the pace. He was deciding what would happen. It felt like a bargain—do as I say, and you’ll get the best sex of your life.
I was happy to oblige and continue.
I tossed my head back, letting the pleasure wash over me. How was this feeling so good? I had never come from fingers alone. And yet, the tension felt so strong, so powerful, that…I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and say it was possible, only to be disappointed, but how else could I describe it? He might actually get me to come from fingering me alone.
As it was, I didn’t get to find out because he pulled his fingers back and yanked my clothes off, leaving me completely naked. But he didn’t leave me hanging so much as he did just made it easier for me to get what I wanted. Once more, with no foreplay or no warm-up, he just dove into my pussy, burrowing his tongue into me.
I came within a minute.
And when I said I came, I didn’t mean that it was a soft orgasm, the kind that passes with nothing more than a quick tense and a release of breath. I mean it was the kind of orgasm that left you thrashing on the bed, your entire body quivering, the only thing keeping you in place your partner’s weight on your hips and your legs.
I was damn proud of the fact that I didn’t kick him once. Because heaven knew that was a risk with how good he was making me feel.
“Holy fuck,” I said, “I gotta return the favor.”
