But I want to.
Fuck, Ineedto.
Because this desire crawling through my veins is not casual. Not fleeting. It’s focused.
And every inch of it is hers.
I reach down, palming myself through my joggers just to ease the ache. But the second my hand touches the hard length pressing against the fabric, I’m lost.
Her voice flashes in my head, low and sultry: “Good. I don’t do soft.”
Neither do I.
Slipping my hand beneath the waistband, I fist my cock, already thick and throbbing. I hiss through my teeth, head falling back against the chair as I stroke once.
The first image that comes to mind is her mouth. That smart, smug, wicked mouth wrapped around the tip, eyes locked on mine, daring me to lose control.
She would tease. She’d hum against me, tongue slick and slow, watching me twitch. Then she’d smirk when I begged.
My grip tightens.
Pumping lazily, I groan low as another image hits me: her legs spread out, her back arched, one hand tangled in my hair while I eat her pussy, deep and thorough.
“Tell me how you want it, Adams,” I growl into the dark, half-laughing at myself.
“You want slow and filthy? Or hard and goddamn endless? Say the word. I’ll destroy you sweet and oh so good.”
My hips lift slightly, chasing the friction as heat floods through me,my body burning for a woman I’m not supposed to want, fantasizing about a mouth I’ve never kissed and a cunt I’ve never touched.
This shouldn’t feel real.
But it does.
The way she tilted her chin tonight, challenging me. The heat in her eyes.
Fuck, I’m going to come.
I stroke harder now, eyes shut tight, stomach tensing.
Rorie.I don’t say her name, but it echoes anyway—a curse and a prayer at the same time.
Pleasure tears through me in waves. Hot. Violent. Mind-numbing.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep quiet as I spill over my hand, the aftermath leaving me panting in the chair, chest heaving, head foggy with satisfaction and something somewhat close to regret.
But it’s not regret. Not really.
It’s want. Need.
Raw, and brutal for a woman who’s going to rip me apart.
I wipe my hand on my shirt and go inside to change into a new one. Afterwards, I reach for my phone again. Her profile lights up.
I stare at her smirking headshot for a second. Then I swipe away.
But it’s too late.
She’s already burrowed herself deep under my skin.
