At the moment, I’m bent over a table with my leggings still hanging off one leg and my ass up in the air, in their kitchen no less, with Dominique pounding into me so… obviously not.
I might be addicted to his dick.
But given that it took him a matter of minutes to get me partially undressed before he was thrusting inside me, I’d say he is equally addicted to my pussy.
Knowing this shouldn’t bring a smile to my face. He’s an asshole. A Grade A, domineering, arrogant, possessive, asshole.
But God does being bent over by him feel good. It’s freaking great, actually.
Which ladies and gentlemen, is why I have a problem. Because I cannot afford to be addicted to Dominique’s dick. I mentioned that, right? If I allow this to continue, there is a very good chance I’ll get hooked on the person attached to said dick. And that cannot happen.
He’d be easier to quit if the sex was bad. Hell, I could walk away from mediocre, or decent, even. But this— this all-consuming, fucking amazing, screw-me-mindless sex, is impossible to quit. And even though I realize I have nothing to compare it to, given that I slipped Dominique my V-card in a moment of grief induced insanity, there is no way it can get any better than this.
No fucking way.
We’ve been sneaking around to sleep with each other for weeks now. It’s never dull. He’s always amazing. I get off every single time. And I swear I always want more. I expected the newness of it all to eventually wear off. For this… craving to go away. But it doesn’t. Dominique Price is like tequila to an alcoholic, and a shot of him goes down so damn smooth.
The sex has been an almost every day—or at the very least, every other day—occurrence since we started this up. But football season is well underway, and of course Suncrest U is killing it.
Dominique’s time has been limited this week, more so than most. Between training in the mornings, classes in the afternoons, then practice after school and games every weekend, half of which require travel, we barely see each other.
I’m exhausted for him just thinking about his schedule. Not that he’ll get any sympathy from me. That’s not how this little arrangement works. He scratches my back. I scratch his. And we both satisfy an itch the other has. But lately, something’s felt off. Like there’s something missing, but I don’t know what.
I’ve tried to ignore the feeling which is easier to do on days like today. When I remember that less than eight weeks ago, my mom died in a tragic car accident. That she was in the middle of leaving me a message when she crashed and that I’d been too busy ignoring her to answer. And now it’s gone. Her message is gone. Her voice. The words she spoke, telling me she loved me. It’s all fucking gone. And god dammit. Here I go again. What is wrong with me?
I suck in a ragged breath and Dominique’s thrusts slow.
This is why I’m here right now. Why I showed up on his doorstep barely after seven AM. Because of that stupid voicemail. It haunts me.
Dominique curses, drawing my attention back to him. He releases his hold on my hair and spins me around to face him. His dick slides out of me with the change in position and a noise not unlike a sob passes over my lips.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and he lifts me onto the edge of the table, spreading my thighs open for him to step between.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I let out a small sigh of relief as he thrusts back into me. I throw my head back, more than ready for this to continue, and brace myself against the table, expecting Dominique to fuck me hard like he’d been doing only seconds before, except he doesn’t. In fact, he does the complete opposite.
Cupping the nape of my neck, he tilts my head forward until he’s all that I see. Dark brown eyes framed with heavy brows meet my baby blue gaze and he sinks into me almost painfully slow. I take in the hard lines of his face. The twin slashes that cut thin lines into his brow and his dark brown skin. He’s the same arrogant asshole he’s always been only now, he looks at me like I’m more than his best friend’s little sister. Like I’m more than an easy lay.
His dark brown eyes are soft, gaze heavy lidded. He peppers my face with tender kisses, his lips brushing along my cheeks, my nose, and trailing down along my neck before making their way to my lips and covering my mouth with his. He swallows my sounds of protest and his hand cups the side of my neck, holding me in place but also supporting me with his strength.
Dominique pulls out until only the tip of him is still inside me before sinking into me again. Slow. Methodical. Eyes boring into mine and making the act that much more intense.
It’s… intimate.
I don’t like it.
His gaze searches mine for something. It’s like he’s asking me a question, but I can’t make out the words to give him a response. His hands roam over my body, skimming over my ribs. He peels my shirt up, exposing my stomach and chest as he tugs down the cup of my bra and palms one of my breasts in his large hands. He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger while I’m struggling to increase our pace.
I dig my heels into his lower back, encouraging him to go faster. To thrust into me harder. But he refuses to budge. With a grimace, he controls himself, thrusting in and out of me at a measured pace, never giving me what I need. Keeping it slow and steady, like he’s worried I might break. Or worse. Fucking shatter.
“How’s that, baby girl?” His voice rasps over my heated skin as he touches his forehead to mind.
“Fuck me,” I snarl and he chuckles, shaking his head.
His thumb grazes my lower lip, and he leans in like he’s about to kiss me again, only to whisper a single word against my mouth. “No.”
I groan and move to shove him away from me, but pushing Dominique is like trying to move a mountain. “You want me to stop?” he asks, surprise coloring his voice.
“No,” I snap. “I want you to fuck me like you hate me. Give me what I need, Dom.”
