He flips my skirt up and reaches between my legs, hissing at the heat coming off me.
Rrrrrrrip.
The sound of fabric yielding to hunger so desperate, rough, and urgent electrifies my nerves and brings a rush of moisture with it. I can’t see what he’s doing; I can’t even reach back and touch him. I feel open, helpless, and it goes right to my core. All I can do is lean here—bared, holding myself up—and wait for him to stick his dick in me.
Dios mio.This is so fucking hot.
“You want this?” he asks through his teeth.
His words send a zing through my stomach, pebbling against my nipples and sparking an ache deep inside my cunt that demands to be filled. He rubs the headof his cock against my entrance, sliding easily through my soft, smooth skin from the saliva I left on his length.
“Oh fuck,” I hiss, nodding eagerly, then letting my head hang between my arms which are wobbling as they work to hold me upright.
“Do you want this, Madison?” he repeats emphatically. “Tell me: yes or no.”
“Do it. Fuck me. Right now.”
With a strangled groan, he spits in his hand, then shoves a boot between my feet, kicking them apart to make room for himself to stand. I nearly cry with arousal. He grabs my hips, lines himself up, and slides into me in a long, smooth, forceful stroke that makes both of us moan. The sound echoes around us, amplifying and then fading as it travels along the concrete.
Fuck. He’s so deep.Fuck. I’m still so sore from last night, but that pinch of pain is like a reminder that I’m alive. That he’s filling me. I clench around him.
The first snap of his hips rips the air from my lungs. I feel that stretch and forceful push from my hair to my toes. The rasp of fabric against the backs of my legs sends a shiver through me. He wanted inside me so badly; he didn’t even pause to drop his pants. This kind of half-clothed, desperate, dirty sex in a public place is exactly what we both need right now.
“Harder. More,” I beg.
His fingers curl around my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise as he thrusts faster and harder. He’s rough, and the pace is punishing, and I love every damn second of it. He fills me so perfectly, so completely, and the head of him dragging against my g-spot feels bothsogood and not enough at the same time.
Even though he’s not being gentle, it’s like a feather-light touch that hints at pleasure but doesn’t stimulate enough to actually cause any. I need to be able to touch myself, or to have something vibrating against my clit. The slap of his balls isn’t enough. The tip of him deep inside isn’t enough.
Fuck.
I’m not going to come. Not like this.
Fuck!
The realization makes me squeeze my eyes against the prickly tears. I tamp down on the wave of uncontrollable shame—it’snotmy fault, and I havenothingto feel bad about—and try to focus on how good it feels. Fuck, I wish this wereas easy for me as it is for other people. I need the relief of a release. I need to lose myself in this…
After another few minutes, he groans, coming to a stuttering, shaky stop behind me. His cock pulses and flexes inside me, and I know he’s filling me up. The thought is erotic enough on its own to make me clench and moan.
We’re both breathing hard when he pulls back and out of me. With a noise of surprise—I didn’t realize how much he was actually supporting me—I nearly fall face-first into the motorcycle seat, but he catches me with his hold on my waist.
He brings me up into his arms, back against his front, and curls around me, chest still heaving and rocking both of us with the deep inhale-exhale. His arm snakes up my front, gently circling the front of my throat. Unbidden and unwelcome, memories from my attack surface. That man held me from behind like this. His body was bigger, his hands rougher, his scent wrong, his intent to hurt me, kill me…
I choke down a sob and shiver. The shiver doesn’t stop as I come down from the high of the adrenaline. It was temporarily shifted into hot desire, and now that we’re not fleeing or fucking, my nervous system is shot. Shivers turn into shakes, and I’m suddenly trembling from head to toe, and I can’t control it.
I go rigid in his arms as paranoia creeps back into my consciousness. There are cameras down here. We’re exposed.
Wesley realizes the same thing. “As much as I want nothing more than to drape you back over my bike and eat you out from behind, I refuse to give a security guard that show. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
The journey up from the parking garage into the hotel is a blur. He ushers me from one elevator to another with a hand low on my back. I’m so focused on the odd, slippery sensation of his cum leaking out from my pussy that I miss all the details. He asks for my phone at one point, and I hand it over on autopilot. And then we’re safe behind a closed, locked door in a room where every surface is covered in different kinds of electronics. It makes me smile faintly because that’s how I know this room is his.
He parks me in the short hallway between the door and bed, disappearing into the bathroom. A second later, I hear running water and I peek inside. He’s seatedon the edge of a large tub, leaning forward and checking the water temperature as it pours out.
Oh, he meant,let’s get you cleaned upliterally.
Satisfied with the adjustments of the taps, Wesley stands, wiping his hand on his pants. His eyes are on me as he closes the distance. “I’m going to go erase the security footage from the garage.”
Numbly, I nod. “Good. That’s… good.”
