“No,” I gasped.
His hands moved higher, cupping my breasts fully, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked to hardened tips. He pinched lightly, but it was sharp enough to make me arch. I cried out; the sound swallowed by another bruising kiss.
One hand left my breast to grip my ass, pulling me tighter against him. He rocked up into me, a slow grind that dragged his huge cock along my soaked center leaking through our clothes.
I whimpered, nails digging into his biceps.
“Tell me to stop,” he muttered against my throat, teeth grazing my pulse. “Tell me right now.”
“Don’t you dare stop,” I breathed. “Please, Marcus. I need?—”
He cut me off with another kiss, deeper, dirtier. His hand slid between us, fingers working the elastic of my leggings open, slipping inside. When he found me bare and dripping, he cursed against my lips.
“No panties and so fucking wet,” he rasped.
“Yes,” I moaned.
Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning. He stretched me, curling the digits in and upward, finding that spot that made my vision white out. I bucked against his hand, riding his fingers shamelessly while his thumb circled my clit in tight, relentless strokes.
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Squeeze my fucking fingers.”
His demand was all I needed to shatter. I moaned out his name as my pussy clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper, my orgasm soaking his hand. Marcus kept pumping in and out as I came, drawing out my pleasure until I was shaking and boneless against his chest.
When the aftershocks faded, he pulled his hand free, lifted his fingers to his mouth, and licked them clean while holding my gaze. The sight sent another bolt of heat through me.
But then reality crashed back, not just for me but for him, too. I could see it in the way he froze, eyes clearing and his mouth forming a firm line. His hand—still on my hips—tightened, then loosened as if he were forcing himself to let go.
“Fuck. I can’t believe I fucking did that,” he said hoarsely. “This… we can’t do this.”
I cupped his face, thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw. “I don’t regret it.”
He closed his eyes, forehead resting against mine. “I’m supposed to protect you. Not… this.” He exhaled shakily. “Go to bed, Lila.”
I didn’t move right away. Just stayed on his lap, straddling him, feeling the hard length of his dick still bobbing against me, and listening to his rapid pants, like he’d run a marathon.
I finally slid off his lap, legs unsteady. He stood, too, adjusting himself with a grimace, not bothering to hide how turned on he was for me.
We didn’t speak as the storm still raged outside or when I forced myself to head to my room. I didn’t feel shame or regret, but I was disappointed that he felt those things.
I shut my bedroom door, leaned against it, heart still racing, body still aching.
The line was crossed.
And neither of us could pretend we didn’t do it willingly.
Chapter Five
Lila
The days after the storm blurred into a tense, pressurized haze that I couldn’t shake. The power had flickered back on sometime before dawn. The house hummed back to life, but the shift between us felt permanent and irreversible.
It felt like a fault line had cracked open under our feet, and no amount of pretending could seal it shut.
I woke up the next morning with the taste of whiskey and him still lingering on my lips, my body a map of reminders from the night before.
My thighs ached from straddling his hips, and my nipples were still sensitive from the rough pinch of his fingers. And between my legs, I was tender and slick, my core thrumming with the echo of how he’d made me come undone on his hand.
I touched myself lightly under the sheets, replaying the way he’d licked my arousal from his fingers, his eyes dark and hungry in the candlelight. Confusion twisted in my gut, but it was drowned out by the heat and thrill of it all.
