Page 69 of The Devil of Downtown

His fingers return, slipping between my thighs, crooking just right, teasing me, never quite giving me enough. My forehead drops to the glass.

“I know,” he continues quietly, like it’s simply a fact, “that if I play with you here...”

His fingers slow, teasing enough to make it unbearable.

“...you’ll beg.”

I try to hold on. I really do. But my resolve cracks, then gives way entirely.

“Fuck, please, Dane.” The word leaves me soft on the exhale. “Please.”

He stills. Just for a beat.

Then he withdraws and turns me to face him. He drags his tongue slowly across his slick fingers, eyes blazing like he’s barely clinging on.

“Take my shirt off, Ivy.”

My hands lift, trembling as I work the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping it off his broad shoulders, my fingers gliding over the hard planes of his chest, the light smattering of hair, the defined ridges of his abs, skimming the honed V disappearing into his waistband.

“Unbuckle me,” he groans, jaw clenched tight.

I work his belt and fly with clumsy haste. And then... Jesús. He’s hard, thick, and straining, heavy in my hand.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls a condom from his pocket, rips the foil with his teeth, and slides it on with practiced ease.

“I also know,” he whispers, lifting me until my back thumps against the glass, legs locking tight around his waist, “you’ll come for me when I tell you to.”

My eyes pop when he grinds the huge head of his cock against my swollen clit, grazing along my slick seam. His heavy-lidded eyes watch me in awe as he guides himself to my opening and eases in, inch by inch. Every glide of friction sparks a rush of heat so intense my head falls back with a helpless whimper.

He cups my chin, fingers firm, drawing me back to him.

“I need to see those blue eyes, Ivy.”

The second my gaze lifts to his, something in him breaks. He slides out and slams back in. One deep thrust that steals the air from my lungs. I cry out as his hips surge forward. The stretch of his size is overwhelming, but in the best way possible; every drive, hitting places I didn’t know could feel this good.

My back slaps against the cold glass as he fucks me with a raw, primal force, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He buries his face in my neck, teeth scraping, licking, sucking, his mouth moving greedily over my skin. The sensation builds, twists, tightens until I’m barely holding on, my moans echoing in the vast room.

I bite my lip, digging my nails into his rigid shoulder muscles. But his rhythm is too perfect, too relentless.

“Dane,” I gasp, my voice breaking.

“Yes, baby,” he grunts, eyes glazed with pleasure. “Fuck, I’m so close, you feel too damn perfect.”

Each thrust grows stronger, more urgent, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers slide up to grip my throat, the sensation feeding the storm tearing through me.

“I need you to come for me, Ivy, right fucking now.”

He drives forward, pounding that spot again—harder, deeper—and I shatter, my body convulsing so hard I swear my heart stops. He just keeps going, fucking me through the climax, kissing me slow and rough through each wave until his eyes roll back and he follows with a loud, throaty groan.

We collapse together, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, both of us breathing hard.

“Jesus, Ivy, you okay?” he murmurs, lifting his head to brush his lips against mine, fingers threading through my hair.

I nod, still not capable of coherent speech.

Damn. So this is what fucked senseless feels like.

Before I can catch my breath, his arms tighten around me, and he carries me through the large space to a bathroom almost the same size as my apartment. He sets me down in a shower of glass and slate and rolls off the condom, tossing it into the trash. “I’m clean, by the way,” he says, flicking on the shower, one arm bracing the wall beside my head.