Not. Intimidated.
“After how mean you’ve been to me, Lexi, you’re gonna have to try harder than that to earn your reward.”
Is his cock my reward?
Sucking him off ismytreat in this scenario, not his?
Does that make the way he’s tonguing my nipple the punishment?
My head swims and spins with sensation, lost in the ways he’s making me feel.
“You like it when I’m mean to you,” I pant out. “You’re fucked up like that.”
He murmurs a noise of agreement, sucking the top of my breast in his mouth so hard it’s going to leave some damage, and then lets it pop out with a smacking sound.
“Everything you do turns me on. You should try being nice to me and see what that does.”
My head rolls from side to side against the door. “Too far. Give me a safe word, because that crossed the line. This is a hate fuck and nothing more.”
“No safe words. Only thing I wanna hear outta your mouth tonight is ‘yes, Chef.’”
I nod, not sure he can see me with his head buried between my breasts, but maybe he feels the motion because he speaks.
“Answer me. You think you’ve earned my cock?”
“Yes.” A growl rumbles in his chest, making me gasp before adding, “Chef.”
His grip on me lessens as he purrs in delight, clearly enjoying my submission. The weight of his large frame lifts from my front, leaving tracks of saliva, countless red marks and imprints of his teeth along every inch of flesh that’s visible above my shirt.
I can feel his heavy gaze admiring his handiwork as one of his hands reaches down and he strokes his length through his shorts.
Watching his hand mold to the shape, it’s even larger than I thought.
His eyes spark with unspent energy, and it vibrates the particles in the room. Like a single spark leaping between us could start a fire that consumes everything in the space.
“I want it,” I repeat, letting the desperation leak through my words.
That voice of his is always deep, but it’s especially guttural when he speaks again. “Show me.”
Wilder grabs my hand, dwarfing mine in his massive grip, and my thighs clench remembering how it felt to have his thick fingers inside of me. Those rough pads of his fingers exploring until they foundexactlythe right spot. How he filled me so easily, stretched me around him as he worked me deep and hard.
I need more from him now.
Dragging me through the small apartment, he drops my arm when we get to the bedroom he’s staying in, and the second I’m free my hands find the hem of my shirt, and I yank it up and over my head until I’m free from the constraints of it. My bra is next and his eyes follow every movement, taking in my curves as they’re revealed to him, inch by inch.
When all of me is bared to him, the bulge beneath his shorts shifts, tenting the material further, calling my eyes down. Mouth pooling in anticipation, I watch as his rough jaw clenches, a muscle in his cheek popping at whatever he sees in me.
His scars make him more intimidating when he’s this intense. There’s nothing cute or funny about this version of Wilder.
The teddy bear I’m used to seeing in the café is not present in this bedroom tonight.
He’s something far more dangerous now.
Something at home in the shadows and darkness. That hunts and never misses.
Eyes locked on mine, he peels his shirt from his torso, finally giving my eyes unfettered access to the spread of tattoos across his chest, stomach, the ones on his upper arms that lead to his shoulders and go up his neck, crawling up to his jawline. They paint nearly every inch of his mountainous form, the way my body begs to.
I knew he was a big boy, but seeing him like this is undoing something in me. That last bit of insecurity that keeps me from going all out with partners. I don’t feel it in this moment.
