I think his eyes must be on me, though he can’t possibly see any better than I do in the dark, although with Liev, I have to wonder. But the low growl he lets out is scary and mean and so goddamn hungry I moan. Working together now, we drag my pants to my ankles, then all the way off.
The scrape of his skin against mine is a secret language the two of us share.
There isn’t time to think about it, because in the next second, he’s on me again, his heft weighing me down. Another smack burns the side of my ass, his rough hand reaches up and under my T-shirt, finding my breast, which he pinches and pulls and flicks, like I’m a toy. He turns me over like a wildcat—a lion, playing with his victim before a kill.
Lions don’t kiss you, though, with slow, sweet pleasure.
His tongue’s a soft caress, somehow fucking my mouth, and loving it too.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp when he pulls away.
“Hold on. Be patient.”
After kissing me so thoroughly, I’ll give him anything he wants. Except maybe for patience. There’s not a lot of that happening here.
He fiddles with something low down, his bulk pinning me, and then—whoa my God—all the blood rushes to my pelvis. He’s there, stiff and hot between my legs, sliding without penetrating.
My heart goes still.
I’m so slick, my arousal feels cold, his cock burning against me. A slide back, another forward. A slap of his swollen crown to my aching clit. His torso shifts away, leaving me chilled and alone up top, but then one hand goes to my nape and circles it, like a ring. A collar.
The collar thing I’ve never quite gotten slides into place then—the symbol, but also the sensation. It feels right the way he holds me. Heavy and intransigent and not entirely of my choosing. No. No, that isn’t right, I’ve chosen this. We’ve woven this thing together. A call and response of our own making.
Like how he shifts and I roll to lift my ass as some kind of offering.
“This what you wanted?” Liev leans in and whispers against my cheek. “A hot cock between your legs, your face in the dirt?”
Yes yes yes.I don’t answer. I can’t. I am all body, no brain.
Not just anyone. “Yourcock,” I finally manage. “I want you, Liev.”
His hips press tight to mine, showing me how deep he could be, then his teeth give my earlobe a mean tug before letting go. “It’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna hurt you.”
Adrenaline courses through me, or excitement. Whatever that feeling is when your blood’s rushing from your belly into your chest and you can’t breathe. I smell him—musk, and metal, that soap smell that links us through art. I want to turn around and suck him deep. I want to drown in that scent.
I guess that answers the question of whether I truly crave pain or not.
“I might hurt you back,” I taunt and he laughs, the movement swaying our bodies like we’re on the same wave, in the same boat, floating this wild ocean together.
“Is this weird?” I swivel to face him again.
He goes still, pulls back to look at me. “Definitely.”
“I don’t mean the sex. I mean this.” I wave my hand between our bodies, suddenly hyper aware that we’re practically strangers. “This thing where the sex seems more important than, like…dating. Like we’re doing it backwards.”
Laughing lightly—the warmest sound I’ve heard in my life—he leans in and nuzzles my throat, my jaw, my ear. “Maybe the others are doing it wrong.” He eases back again with a deep grunt. “Spread your legs.”
I obey, without hesitation.
His rumbled response is a prize I didn’t realize I wanted. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Your little cunt’s soaking. I’m gonna pound it so good. You want that? Want your pussy destroyed?”
Fears spikes straight back in, makes everything deeper. This isn’t lust the way I’ve known it all my life, it’s something that rearranges my insides and leaves me open, gasping, begging, gagging.
When he thrusts this time, the threat is there, in the strength of the move, the near-penetration that should scare me.
Dazed, I realize the dirty talk has covered up the sounds of foil unwrapping, the snap of rubber. “Don’t you fucking move, Grace,” he says, his voice ragged now, frayed and low and almost metallic. Or is that the smell? My senses have short circuited. Smell and sound and touch have blended together to create a dangerous cocktail of need. In the mix, my name is a drug.
Of course my body takes his words as a challenge. I’ve never been an easy person, I guess. I buck, pushing him half off me. He growls, his muscles flex.
