“Okay,” I gasp. “Yes.”
He smirks. “Thought so.” I’m watching him watch me now and my mind balks at the strange infinity mirror effect of seeing him admiring me, wanting me, feeling the way my body wants him and, if I let myself admit it, my brain, too. I don’t see myself reflected in his pupils, but I feel the attraction.
It’s a pull stronger than any I’ve felt before. Animal in its magnetism.
“Oh, god,” I wheeze. “I think it’s…”
“Yeah. That’s it.” The intensity, the fierceness, as he pumps those fingers inside me, heats my skin. It would scare me, I think, if I were more lucid. Instead, it eggs me on, lifts my hips, arches my back, squeezes my lungs until I’m wailing. “There you go, beautiful. There it is. Fuck, look at you coming on my hand again, you gorgeous, sweet woman. Look at you all needy and hot. This cunt’s gonna feel so good around me. You’ve got no idea how hot you are. How quick it’s gonna be once I’m in there, stretching you out and giving you every drop of what I have.”
Oh my god. I’m lost. Burned up by his words. Intense and crass and too much, just too much for this reserved person I am or have become or, maybe always was.
I don’t do all this emotion. I don’t succumb to hormones. I don’t let things hurt or feel. I can’t.
Which is why the orgasm, when it hits, takes me by complete surprise, twists up my insides, and spits the rest of me out. It shouldn’t be this strong after the hallway.
The sloppy wet noises of his fingers keep going until I groan from the nervy zap of too much sensation, and grab his wrist, yanking to let him know I can’t take anymore.
He won’t leave it at that, I realize, once he pulls out of my wasted body, puts his fingers to his lips and paints my essence all over them before licking them clean.
“You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, Katarina Esteban. Ever tasted.” He leans over me now, intent, a deep, dark threat in his eyes. Following the path of his gaze down, I watch him grab his shaft, then feel the hefty slap when it lands against where I’m still quivering with the final aftershocks of the climax he’s wrenched from my body.
The sound of it slipping through all my wetness is frankly pornographic. A little embarrassing. It’s too much. I turn to hide my face, but he reaches for me, urges me to look up. “Watch, okay beautiful? Will you do that?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Whatever he wants. Anything. Everything.
“Watch me fuck you raw. Watch while I fill you up, Katarina. Give you what you want. You know how hot that is?”
“Yeah,” I pant, wanting this more than I ever thought I would. “Do it.”
“Fuck, yes.” He runs the plump crown of that cock up and down my slit, giving me just a taste of what he’s about to feed into my body. It’s too big. Like a forearm, the head enough to fill my entire mouth.
Which is a detail I wish I didn’t know.
“I’ve got so much to give you.” When he looks up and snags my gaze, I’m caught in those dark eyes of his. Trapped. “Been saving it all up again.”
“You have?” I ask, aching to rub his back like he’s been so good. Like he deserves praise for all the good work. I just barely keep myself from doing it.
“I promised, didn’t I?” His expression is a compelling mix of excited and mean. The frown, the tight jaw, the compressed lips, directly contrasting the way his eyes flick from my face down over my splayed breasts to where he’s lubing himself up between my legs, teasing me, and likely himself in the process.
Every sweep of his tip to my entrance makes me tense up, waiting, wanting, and every time, he coasts over it, bypasses it, gives me nothing but a hint of the pleasure to come.
Something like misgiving skitters up my spine when I remember that none of this is supposed to feel good. He’s doing a job here. I’m doing a job. There is an end to our means, no matter how much we may forget it and, for a handful of seconds, I’m cold at the realization that this isn’t real. It’ll end.
It has to.
That’s the deal.
It always was and that’s not something that can change.
If only it didn’t feel quite so…tragic all of a sudden.
25
Jake
Something passes over Kit’s face and I go still, hating this feeling of holding back, when what I want more than anything is to plunge inside her, take what’s mine and give her what I’ve promised.
Minebeing a relative term, I guess. But this shit racing through my system, testosterone or some other aggressive hormone, it’s telling me to take and mark, to claim. To own in a way I’ve never allowed myself to do. Never wanted to, if I’m being honest.
