Page 77 of Hard to Handle

My body is raw and wanting, and the seconds we waste as he stares at me, as his eyes wander up and down every inch of my body, has me itching to reach out and take what I want.

I open my lips, swollen from his, to speak, to tell him to destroy me in the most delicious of ways, but there’s something in his look that tells me he needs this as much as I do . . . but for such very different reasons.

“Turn around,” he orders and I obey, anticipation held with bated breath.

He puts a hand on my waist as he pulls me back against him, my ass meeting his thighs, the firmness of his dick undeniable against my lower back. He moves the hair off my neck with his free hand and his teeth scrape over the skin there as his other moves between my thighs.

“Fuck, Dekk. You . . .” He kisses the juncture of my shoulder to my neck. “This.” His fingers slide between my thighs as one of his feet knock mine wider. “I’m going to fuck this sweet pussy of yours.” He parts me, and his groan when he finds me wet for him has my nipples hardening. “With my fingers.” He tucks them into me and my body convulses in reaction, anticipation for the next touch already building. “With my tongue.” He slides his tongue up to my ear and dips inside, the combination of his coarse stubble and warm tongue making me gasp. “With my cock.” He uses his hand to slide it between the cheeks of my ass and I tighten around his fingers in response.

My body is strung so tight, my need at fever pitch, my want dancing across my skin in goosebumps.

His hand grips the back of my neck again. “Tell me you’re ready for me. Tell me you want me. Tell me to fuck you,” he growls into my ear.

But I don’t speak—can’t—as his fingers continue their slow, delicious torture to the nerves and pleasure points between the apex of my thighs. My head falls back on his shoulder as I moan with another maneuver of his fingers. “Hunter.” His name is a long, drawn-out plea to give me what I need and to never stop.

“I know this body. I know what you need. So goddamn wet,” he groans. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. Now, bend over.”

My pulse races as I do as I’m told. His hands caress down my hips before one slides up and down my slit, allowing the room’s cool air to hit my most sensitive flesh.

But more arousing than his touch is his hum of approval, of desire, of greed that owns the room around us.

I rest on my elbows in eagerness and then jolt when I feel the soft swipe of his tongue over my clit, stopping to dip in my center, before moving up over the tight rim of muscles atop, before going back the way he started.

He’s deliberately slow, and his tantalizing torture has me squirming and widening my legs so he can have whatever part of me he wants.

I’m his.

Completely.

“Please,” I moan.

A chuckle is his only response as he withdraws all touch from me. Then I yelp as his hand connects firmly with the side of my ass.

But the sting is quickly forgotten, the temporary pain gone as I hear the telltale rip of foil. He takes a moment to protect us before he slides the head of his cock up and down my slit.

“Sweet hell, Dekker,” he moans as he slowly pushes his way into me.

My muscles resist with the sweetest of burns until they heat and accept and tighten from the fullness. It’s my moan in the room now. It’s my command for him to move. It’s my ass pushing back against him telling him I’m ready.

With both hands on my hips, he begins to move in and out of me in measured, controlled strokes.

Each one a slow seduction to my nerves.

Each one an assault on my senses in the best way possible.

Each one another stroke closer to his control snapping.

And I can feel it happening, just as surely as I can feel my own orgasm begin to build.

His grip becomes tighter on my shoulder. His thrusting is more powerful, the slap of his thighs against mine louder. The sounds he emits more guttural, more unhinged.

Combined, they turn me on in a way no one else has ever been able to before, but I push the thought out of my mind and fall into the moment. Under the haze of pleasure. To the sensations he evokes.

I reach my hand between my thighs and brush my finger over my clit. The drag of his cock inside. The tease of my fingers on the outside. The gruff groan of my name. The ability he gives me to feel, to be, to give in.

It’s heady and powerful and damn it to hell, he allows my body to build and soar and ache until the sensations reach a crescendo that I can only close my eyes, bow my head, and hang on to for the ride.

My body detonates—fractures into a million pieces as the orgasm slams into my every nerve, my every muscle, my everything.