Page 53 of LA King

Gasping for breath, I wait for him to stop, but he keeps going, sucking on the hypersensitive nub of flesh until I’m hovering somewhere between pleasure and oblivion. It’s too much, but if he stops I might actually die. I can’t do this, yet I need to. Finally, after I’m driven feral with the need to come again, he slips a finger inside me. The shift in focus sends powerful shockwaves through my body.

“Oh, god, Alex,” I cry as my second orgasm crashes through me like a freight train.

I buck against him, tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m vaguely aware of him standing, the loss of his warm mouth and his skilled fingers registering in my orgasm-addled brain. The metallic jangle of his belt buckle followed by the sound of his zipper has my pussy instinctively aching to be filled. My body reacts to him on such a primal level—it’s mildly terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

I’ve barely had a chance to steady my breathing when he fills me to the hilt with one smooth thrust. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you on my desk all day. And until I get you to the office at my hotel, this one will have to do.”

He wraps my shaky legs around his waist and kisses me, sliding his tongue into my mouth until I taste myself. I groan, always so needy for him.

“You love being fucked, don’t you, Alana?”

“Yes!”

“Bueno, because I do love to fuck you.”

Yes he does. He’s barely done anything else for the past few weeks, and even after I convince myself that nothing could ever feel as good as this time, it keeps getting better and better. Our bodies getting more attuned, our desire growing with each day. Never sated. Never done.

No matter how many orgasms he gives me, it’s never enough.

I crave him like a drug, and I don’t know how to stop. Or if I ever want to.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Alejandro

Alana and I ate dinner, and I suggested we go to bed with the intention of fucking her senseless—again. But she saw that some movie she wanted to watch was on and pleaded with me to watch it, and I should probably give her a break. I fuck her far too frequently for her comfort, not to mention my sanity.

It’s the latter that makes me agree to the movie idea, and I regret it almost instantly. It’s awful, centering on a group of college roommates who spend most of their lives getting wasted.

I lie on the bed, scrolling through my cell phone while she lies with her head at the other end, propped up on her elbows and laughing every five minutes.

I’m engrossed in a chain of emails between Jax and one of our partners in Nevada when I feel her hand on my thigh. “Are you not enjoying the movie?”

“It’s not really my kind of movie. I never did that whole college thing, going out and getting wasted every weekend.”

“Well, neither did I,” she says. “But it’s just a movie.”

“You went to college though, yes?”

“Yeah, I did. But I never did any of the regular college kid stuff. I had to work for my dad almost every weekend.” She turns off the TV mid movie and stretches out beside me. “It was kind of awful though. The movie, not working for my dad.” She snorts a laugh, such an unguarded reaction that it makes me smile.

“So you never went out and partied like a regular college student?”

“Not much. I did a few times.” She shrugs. “I used to go to this great club in New York with my friend Kelsey. I only went a few times though. Not nearly as much as I should have.”

I slip my hand under her T-shirt and trace lazy circles over her abdomen. “Do you wish you’d gone out and gotten drunk a little more?”

“I wish I’d danced more. I love dancing. I don’t think I danced enough.”

I’m hit with an unfamiliar urge to put her smile back on her face. “You love dancing? Then let’s go dancing.”

“What? Right now?”

“Yes. Now.”

She shakes her head and glances at the clock. “But it’s late.”