“No promises.”
A minute later, he had my back pressed against our bedroom door, and his fingers were digging into my waist. His breath was hot against my cheek, gone ragged with flimsy restraint. Every inch of space between us vanished as he leaned in. His fingers tightened at my waist, almost painfully, like he was afraid I’d fade away like a ghost.
Then his lips found mine, desperate and demanding like he’d been waiting his entire life to taste me. Our mouths parted, and a low sound escaped his throat that threatened to make my knees buckle.
I clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His hand slid up my back, fingers dancing up my spine. He pushed, forcing my lower body to meet his. I moaned when I felt how hard he was through his slacks.
“You feel that, baby?” he asked, slipping two fingers into the waistband of my trousers.
He tugged, walking backwards to the bed with a crooked smile. The back of his knees hit the bed, and he sat, forcing me to straddle his lap. His hands glided up my thighs, and I wished I were wearing a dress. All he’d have to do was slip my panties to the side, and we’d both get what we wanted. No, I had to be complicated and wear pants.
That crooked smile softened as he looked up at me.
“You always do this to me,” he murmured, squeezing my thighs. I brushed his blonde hair from his forehead and didn’t realize my fingers were trembling slightly.
“Do what?”
He leaned in and grazed his lips against my jaw, my cheek, and finally the corner of my mouth.
“Make me forget everything but you.”
I laughed, and he soon joined in when he realized how cringey that sounded.
“This is what happens when I’m sober,” he teased, pulling me flush against him.
“I almost like you better when you were a raging alcoholic. You weren’t so sappy then,” I joked.
“Just an asshole,” he said, deftly unbuttoning my pants and lowering the zipper.
I kissed his forehead.
“You weren’t an asshole. You were just—mmmmm,” I responded, all thoughts ceasing when he shoved his thick fingers into my panties and fondled my clit.
“That’s enough talking, Kiyah. All I want to hear from you is my name. You understand?”
I nodded furiously, gnawing on my bottom lip as I shifted in his lap, leaning back to allow him more access.
The foreplay didn’t last long. We were too eager to connect and peeled off the bare minimum needed to fuck. He was still in his dress shirt and undershirt, boxers and pants around his ankles, and I’d lost my pants, thong tugged to the side like I wanted.
He gripped my ass with both hands and urged me toward his imposing dick that promised to both wreak havoc and bring unimaginable pleasure. I leaned forward, pressing my chest to his, reached behind myself, and grabbed his shaft. I guided it towards my pussy, nudging the opening with his already leaking tip. A sharp hiss escaped me as I impaled myself. I was barely seated when he reached between us and captured my piercing.
“Move,” he demanded.
It was pure, agonizing torture as he twisted and tugged, sending shocks of euphoria through me as I rode him. He grunted loudly when I slammed down on him, chasing my high.
“Damn, baby. Don’t hurt me.”
I gave us a moment’s reprieve, rolling my hips and grinding in his lap with my hands on his parted knees. His lips were onmine again, demanding submission that he didn’t have to force out of me. I’d readily give it, time and time again.
We switched positions.
He’d slipped his feet out of his pants and rolled us over, forcing me onto my back. I wrapped my legs around him, ankles settling on his lower back. He tenderly stroked me, face buried into my neck as my fingers teased the hairs at the nape of his neck.
We finished with loud, chaotic shouts that made us grateful our nearest neighbors were on another street. Grant rolled off of me and wordlessly laced his fingers through mine.
“How’s your headache?” he asked, rubbing my abdomen with his free hand.
“Gone.”
