The sounds of our breathing rip through the silence.
To my abject horror, his hands start to move again.
One shifts up to tangle itself in my hair. The other inches towards my ass… and squeezes when it gets there.
Holy mother of?—
“My worst fuckin’ nightmareandmy wettest fuckin’ dream,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear.
My body lights up.
He thrusts up once, a tiny, almost imperceptible and unconscious movement, and we both let out unnatural, strangled sorts of sounds.
“Oh, wow,” I squeak. That’s some big, faulty hardware.
“Impressed yet?” he rasps.
“No,” I say, with a small swivel of my hips, just to make sure.
“Lie.”
I tilt my head up to look at him and immediately regret it. His hair’s a mess and his jaw is shadowed with stubble, his gorgeous, infuriating mouth and the tips of his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. We search for something, anything, in each other’s eyes before his flick down to my mouth. It’s all too much.
I reach back and throw the shit-brown covers over the two of us, enshrouding us in darkness, because if I can’t see, then maybe this isn’t actually happening.
“Talk to me, Annie.” His voice is gravel and surrounds me in heat.
“I’d rather not.”
He thrusts up once more, and our moans mingle together. I bury my face in his chest.
“What do you want me to do with this?” he grits out, now making small, incremental rocking motions that feel like heaven and hell wrapped into one big, non-faulty package.
“With what?” I grumble, now hating him for literally being the whole package. Smart, hot, rich, well-endowed Nico Giannuzzi. “The tiny sausage you have in your pocket?” I say, now meeting his thrusts with grinding of my own.
“Maybe I should feed you that sausage,” he groans, taking his big hands and running them up and down my sides but over my shirt, along my waist, squeezing and kneading and learning as I all but purr in satisfaction at the feel of it. “Stuff it down your throat and make you gag on it.”
An embarrassing sound, one that could technically be classified as a whimper, leaves my mouth at how much Ineedthat. “It’d go down easy,” I lie to him, “like a single strand of spaghetti.” We’re fully rocking together now, mimicking fucking without any actual penetration, his dick hitting just the right spot over and over again. I moan. A line of sweat drips down my back at the heat currently being generated under the covers.
“Want to test that out?” he asks, while inching his hand back down my ass to where I need it most. Oh god.
“Do you really have Hep B?” I blurt out.
His hand stops. “No. I’m clean. You?” he finally says.
“Same,” I whisper.
“Am I fuckin’ you right now?”
I swallow, rubbing along his length. “I’d never fuck an illiterate gorilla,” I tell him, even while reaching down to my own underwear and pulling it to the side. One layer of clothing now separates us, and it belongs to him. It soaks quickly while I coverit in an embarrassingly wet glide back and forth. “Oh god,” I whisper, rocking even harder.
“Perfect,” he grunts, voice strangled now, “‘Cause I’d never stick my dick in crazy,” he tells me, as he maneuvers somewhere beneath me, and I feel a slide of fabric pulling down until I feel hot, smooth, solid steel right between my bare lips.
Our combined moans fill the blanket space.
“Fuck, Annie,” he mutters, a frustrated whisper.
Something tugs at my head.
