Текст книги "Bend"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
Соавторы: Ella James,K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 35 (всего у книги 41 страниц)
“I don’t think that’s a decision I can make without having your cock first.”
He tilts his head. “Worried I will disappoint?”
Hell to the no. “Girl’s gotta be safe.” I release my own smile, one with much less potency, but the best card I have in this the situation.
His face darkens, the grin disappearing as intensity steals back over. “I’m not joking, Riley. About having you.”
I watch his eyes, the shudder in them as they look from my lips to my eyes to the door. All minute twitches of his pupils, his head unmoving, his entire body so still it may be made of steel. Controlled intensity. I don’t doubt his words. I also know that there is no way I can anything say but yes to this man. My body won’t allow any other response. “Then take me.”
Confirmation in the set of his face, the fire that comes to his eyes, the forward press of his pelvis as he gathers me back, pulling me tightly, his mouth coming back down to claim me. Yes, he is still hard. I smile against his mouth.
Chapter 5
The driver’s name is Leo. White Escalade with custom rims, tinted windows. I step into the backseat, Brett’s head following me inside, his long legs cramped in the backseat. I clutch my purse, smile at Leo as he shuts the door. I had parted with the girls, their protective nature insisting on a face to face with Brett before letting me disappear into the night. Jena had taken it one step further, getting his business card and verifying his cell. He smiled through it all, relaxed and at ease, the intensity of our alley romp gone as he shook hands, oh my god, those fingers were in me, remembered names, and stole all of their hearts.
The SUV moves, rocking over cobblestone steps that pirates once roamed, the movement of the car tossing me slightly. Brett’s hand finds me in the darkness.
“Sorry about the interrogation in there.”
“I’m not. They’re watching out for you. It’s the smart thing to do.”
I bite the edge of my smile. “You say that. Jena Crawford has your number. You might regret that in the wee hours of the morning. I think her second major was drunk dialing.”
He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “I can handle it.”
I glance to the front. To the Bahamian man less than five feet away. “What you said in the alley, about what this will mean …”
“Yes.”
I shrug. “I just want you to know that I’m a big girl. I’m not gonna attach anything to this. If it doesn’t turn out to be anything.”
He looks out the window. Tugs at the front of his dress pants, adjusting himself, he says, “I may have spoken out of turn. I’m not used to this.”
I lower my voice. “We can have sex. Without it meaning anything.”
“I’m not seventeen, Riley. I’m familiar with the concept.”
I shut my mouth. Do my own turn of looking out the window, trying to decide if I should bail on this man when we hit the hotel lobby. It is easier when I look out the window. When I don’t see the line of his jaw and imagine how it tastes. When I don’t look in those eyes and fall further into trouble. Then he moves my hand, from the armrest where he had held it, to his lap. Pushes my palm flat against him, and I lose a bit of my breath. Wow.
His hand atop mine, he drags my palm—my exploring, inquisitive fingers—from his belt buckle to his leg, letting me feel exactly how much, how hard, he wants me. I dart my eyes, trying to see more, but the dark cab shows me nothing but the glow of his eyes. Watching me, his mouth hidden by shadow. Those eyes closing briefly when I grip him through the fabric. “More,” he breathes.
I fumble with the zipper, my own hand struggling, his hand moving to help, holding the fabric tightly as I drag down the metal tag, holding my breath, hoping the driver’s music will drown out the sound, the man’s head not moving, not turning, when the action ends, my hand stealing in and coming in immediate contact with bare cock.
A moment when my body relaxes as my fingers wrap around it, as if I am finally at piece in a place where I belong and everything else can subside. I am touching it. The thought is a shot of arousal to my body. I move my hand, explore. My first thought, when I wrap my hands around it, the observation that my thumb and index finger don’t meet. That his fingers that had satisfied me so easily in that alley—won’t hold a candle to this organ. I squirm a bit in my seat. Grip him with my full hand and am rewarded with an exhale of breath.
A squeal of brakes. I look up and realize we are stopping. At a toll booth, Leo leans out the window, the street lights of the toll plaza casting in full light, my hand on Brett’s ohmygodthatisgorgeous cock. He leans forward quickly, pushing my hand gently to the side, and my ears hear the faint sound of a zipper closing.
“Royal Towers.” He puts his hands on the front headrests, resting his weight on them as he speaks to the driver, and I fight the urge to run my hand over the line of his back. It’s been so long since I touched a man in a loving way. So long since I was in a role other than that of professional friend—sweet ol’ Riley.
I don’t touch his back. I sit, my hands between my knees, the heat of my fingers remembering the lines of his cock. The ridge between his shaft and his head. How it moved slightly in my hand when I grabbed it. The warmth of his skin.
Then the truck stops, a burst of air brushes over my bare legs, and I accept Leo’s hand and exit the vehicle.
“Thank you.” Brett’s hand is on my arm, taking over from Leo, firm pressure in his touch as he guides me toward the entrance, his steps quick, my heels almost struggling to keep up. I tug on his hand, and his head turns, notes my agitation and he slows his gait. “I’m sorry.” He loops an arm around my shoulders, presses a kiss on the top of my head. “Do you want to grab a drink at the bar?”
Do I want to grab a drink at the bar? I don’t think I can handle the wait to walk down the hotel hallway, much less sit out the agonizing process of ordering, sipping, then paying for an unneeded drink. I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
He holds the door, our eyes catching for a moment as I pass through. Just that catch, that brief hold of two stares … it relights the fire that didn’t need any additional fuel. I don’t know why I’m going to fuck this man. There is no sense or reason in the decision. But there is need. There is need, and there will be satisfaction. I don’t know what is about to happen, but I know it will be different than anything I have ever had. Anyone I have ever fucked. I feel like I did when I was a virgin. Nervous. Apprehensive. Excited. The hand on my back guides me to an unfamiliar elevator, and I wait as he presses the button.
Chapter 6
Brett Jacobs watches her. Thinks. This is a mistake. He should be back in that alley. Or in the smoke of the club. Drinking. Watching. Entertaining himself. He doesn’t take strange women into his bed. His head, his heart, doesn’t understand that. Fucking should have a purpose, should contribute to an end goal. There is no end goal that will work in this scenario. She is from Georgia for God’s sake. Here on a bachelorette party, surrounded by a group of friends with eyes of hawks and sex drives of donkeys. A fuck with her will accomplish nothing—lead nowhere. The words his idiotic mouth had uttered in that alley will never work. What did he expect? That after a few hours in his bed, she will commit to him? Fill the hole that has existed for as long as he can remember? This woman who moves before him, the one who smells of lilies and brown sugar, has her own life. One he knows nothing about. A life that breathes fire and independence. One with roots and commitments and, for all he knows, its own leading man. He watches as the elevator doors open and she steps out, his hand reaching out, snagging the delicate warmth of her wrist, and dragging her to the side, rougher than necessary, his sudden need to know more asserting its dominance. He releases her wrist when she stumbles sideways, catching her weight and pinning it against the closest wall.
“Jeez.” The word comes out as an annoyed huff, her eyes flashing as he moves closer, places a hand on the wall beside her head, and stares into her eyes. “What is it with you and walls?”
“What’s it about you?”
“Me?” She lifts her chin, looks at him head on.
“I can’t stop myself. I want to pin you and fuck you against every surface I come to.” He swallows. Refocuses his agitation. “Are you in a relationship?”
Her body tightens. Breath shortens. Eyes focus on his mouth. All reactions he is familiar with. Can read as easily as a financial statement. Lust. A struggle against the reaction, her mind arguing with her want, her eyes losing focus as she licks her lips to wet them. Good God. He barely hears her response, hears the two-letter word sigh out of her lips as she leans against the wall, and he lets himself do what he’s thought about for the last fifteen minutes. Taste that sweet fucking tongue. Reach down and lift her up. Wrap her legs around his waist and carry her the short distance to his door, his hand fumbling with the key, mouths fighting in their frantic quest for more more more. Brett turns the handle, pushes the door, steps into the darkness and carries her to the bed. Tossing her off him, he takes a moment to catch his breath. Collect his wits. From behind, he hears the click of the closing door and, for the first time since meeting her, they are truly and completely alone together. He sends a short prayer upward for strength, restraint, the ability to touch her and be gentle.
Chapter 7
“Stay here.” His breath seems harder than necessary, the wild look in his eyes enough to keep me in place, my own lust aiding in the desire to speed this process along. He steps away, running a hand through his hair, moves to the doors at the end of the room, opens the slider fully. Standing there for a moment, his hands high on the doorframe, his head hangs slightly as he appears to think.
I prop myself up. Make a conscious decision to ignore his directive and stand. Walk across the room until I am behind him. His back straightens, and he turns, his face dark, silhouetted by the lit night before him.
I stop. Look up into the darkness that is his face. His hand reaches forward, toward my face, and I flinch, his hand stopping a few inches away.
“Relax.” His hand moves slowly, brushing down and covering my eyes. “Close your eyes.”
I do. I close my eyes and feel his hand drop. Keep them closed as I turn every other sense to high alert. “Good girl,” he says softly. “Keep them closed.”
I do. I keep my world dark and try to relax. Feel the heat of him as he moves closer. I inhale, but only smell ocean, the breeze from the open door washing the scent of salt and sea across my face. Then his hands, brushing over my shoulderblades, tugging down the spaghetti straps of my dress. Swiping back across my collarbone as firm fingers tug at the front clasp of my dress. Silence as he parts the fabric and slides it down until my bra is the only thing on my upper half.
Closer. I can feel the brush of his chest against the soft pillow of my breasts. Both of his arms wrap around me as he unclips my bra in one movement, the garment dropping, my breasts suddenly loose and free. His arms drop and the hard comfort of his chest leaves me. My eyes flip open.
“No.” He is before me. Staring. Close enough that the shadow is lifted; I can see the reflection of the bathroom light in his eyes. They are tight on me, a warning look in them. “Keep them closed, Riley. For now.”
For now. I release a slow breath. Drop my eyelids until I am back to relying on touch, smell, sense, hearing. I don’t know why I opened them anyway. This way is so much better. I don’t have to worry about the look in his eyes. I can let my imagination go wild. Imagine what I want. Enjoy what I—oh God. A breeze blows, the cool air causing my skin to awaken, the caress of the outdoors making this suddenly so erotic in its voyeurism. I don’t remember which floor we are on. Don’t know if it’s the second or twentieth, but knowing that the balcony door is open before me, feeling the soft brush of his fingers as they return to my skin … it is enough to make my nipples stand on edge, the weight in my pussy heavy with its increased need.
“You are so beautiful.” He almost groans the words, the sentence cuts off my own gasp as both of his fingers circle and squeeze my breasts. Lifting them. I feel the rough prickle of his cheek as his mouth moves across their surface. Wet suction as my right nipple makes its way into his mouth, his soft play of tongue against delicate skin probing and teasing, a low moan coming out of me when he bites the tip of it gently. I sag a bit in his hands, my knees shaking, and my desire to have him making a persuasive argument against the one to have him never stop what is occurring right now. “Wait, Riley.” His mouth moves lower, his hands release my breasts, and I feel the bump of cloth against my legs.
His mouth presses kisses along my stomach until it reaches the line of my dress, and his hands are suddenly at the back of me, fumbling over and then finding the zipper, yanking it down in one movement, and the fabric falls, leaving me one wet pair of panties away from being naked, in heels, before him.
“God.” A reverent whisper from his mouth. A mouth that is wasting no time in moving lower. “Spread your legs a bit.”
I obey. Moaning softly when I feel the press of his finger moving aside the silk and pushing inside of me. One gentle push inside that breaks any chance of restraint I have left. I open my eyes, look down to find him on his knees, and reach down, grip his hair, and pull back until our eyes meet. “I can’t,” I gasp, his finger pushing deeper, curving inside of me, his eyes watching me darkly, the edge of his mouth curving a little when my legs buckle.
Thank God the man listens. He moves to his feet, pulling his finger from me and moving it to his mouth. Sucking on his forefinger, he stares down at me. It might just be the most erotic thing—wait, it is definitely the most erotic thing I have ever seen. I step forward, pull his finger from his lips and replace it with my tongue, the man taking my mouth as if he owns it, his hands gripping me to him, his kiss hard and dominant.
I fall back on the bed, his body above me, knees moving to either side of me as he takes a final pull on my mouth before sitting up, skimming his fingers down my breasts, the lines of my stomach, hooking into the sides of my panties and dragging them over my hips, his body rolling off me enough to free my body from the last bit of resistance.
“My turn,” I breathe, sitting up and reaching for his belt.
He obliges, rolling onto his back and letting me unbutton his shirt.
I am nervous. I realize it as my fingers loop buttons through holes, each minor accomplishment revealing inch after inch of strong chest, covered by a thin layer of hair. He is a man, more man than anyone I have been with. My last boyfriend was a leftover from college, a frat boy turned pharmacist, who never let go of the shaggy haircut that every boy from the South seems to don like a badge of honor. This man, whose chest is strong and wide, his eyes dark and heated, his touch, which trails patiently down my back, is firm and confident. I know, with no degree of uncertainty, this will be different than any other experience I have ever had. That this, however fleeting and short in commitment, will rock my world.
I pull at white material, tugging fabric from pants until abs are fully exposed, a line of thicker hair leading down the ripped path of his stomach to a belt buckle, a break of skin against dark fabric. I slow down, pull hesitantly on the leather, the cold metal of the clasp so foreign in this hot bed of sexual tension. Then his hands push me aside, three quick movements having his pants undone, zipper down, belt open, and cock out.
The groan out of me is unstoppable. It rumbles, turns into a hiss, and then my hesitation is gone, and I pounce on it, diving with greedy lips, my frantic fingers trying to pull him down the bed, as I slide down his body and onto my knees on the carpet. I need it all. I need to feel the slide of skin against bone, need to feel it respond on my tongue. I want to taste every inch of it. Suck on his head until he gasps. Take him as far down my throat as I can, damn the gag reflex. Obsessively worship him with my mouth until he is half as hungry with lust as I am.
I can’t believe I am doing this. On my knees, in a stranger’s hotel room, his body following my lead, sliding to the end of the bed, sitting up, his hand settling on the back of my head, pushing with encouragement as I take his gorgeous cock in my mouth. I am naked in front of this man, any prior relationship with modesty having jumped ship, his eyes nothing but worshipping in their perusal of my curves.
He is almost without taste, my mouth working hard, yearning for a response, the squeeze of sweet hitting my tongue. And, despite my subservient position on my knees, it is empowering to have his most sensitive organ in my mouth. I look up at him, my eyes watering slightly as he takes the moment to pull me further onto his cock. God, the look in his eyes. Singular focus on me. His mouth dropping open slightly as I increase the pressure of my suction. The ownership of his stare even as his lids drop slightly, my name coming out as a hiss on his lips.
“Get up,” he growls. “I need to be inside of you now.”
Hands suddenly on my wrists, stopping my motion on his cock. Lifting me to my feet, I am on the bed before I can think, my back dragging across the duvet as he puts me into place.
A slowing of time. His hands firm and patient as they spread my legs, open me before him. Any concern I have over my naked body, the pounds I really should have shed before hitting vacation mode in a bikini … everything is swiped away by the shudder in his sigh, the look in his eyes as he drinks me in, his fingers opening me up, his mouth lowering for a few back-arching seconds as his tongue dips inside of me.
Then he withdraws. Drags his fingers down my legs and stops at my ankle. Works the strap with his fingers, caresses the curves of my foot as he pulls off the stiletto.
“Is this what you want?”
“My shoes to be taken off?”
The heel drops to the floor with a soft thud. I look down, past the V of my legs, at the naked man before me, a hand settling on the outward jut of his cock, wrapping around its base, stroking it as he stares at me, meets my eyes, for one silent moment. Salt air sweeps over my skin, my legs still spread, fingers of coolness softly brushing over my open sex. I am so wet I can feel a drop sliding down the crack of my body.
“This. What I’m about to do. Is it what you want?”
“Yes.” I don’t need to hesitate before speaking the words. I don’t need to think, to analyze. I threw reason and safety and good decisions out the window as soon as I walked through the door to this suite. I traded logic for a touch that I desperately crave, a connection that is dropping that perfect cock and moving to my other foot. Working the straps to that heel. Fingers teasing the arch and ankle there.
The heel comes off in his hand, and he tosses it away. Grips my ankle, moves his knees on the bed, until he is before me, his cock placed against the wet mound of my sex. His hands on my inner thighs, delicate movements that are turning rougher, stronger. He presses on the back of my knees, lifts my legs until my thighs brush my stomach, thrusts forward with his hips, dragging his hardness back and forth over my clit.
I whimper. I can’t help myself. I can feel the loss of control, feel the breakdown of my mind as pleasure takes over and I become a loose mess of want before him. I am so close to begging, need his cock an inch lower so badly I’m two steps away from taking that matter into my own hands. “Please.” The word slips from my lips as he continues, the underside of his cock now slick with my juices, the steady drag on my clit so perfect that my plea is suddenly counterproductive seeing as the only thing I want to do right now is stay in this moment until I break.
Shove, pull. Shove, pull. I prop myself up to get a better look, the eroticism of seeing his bare cock, head and shaft tight to the point of ripping, the muscles in his stomach sliding under the tan skin, the evidence of my arousal, my need growing. His skin in the moonlight, reflections of white in his eyes, the groan from his mouth that tells me his self-control is as stretched as my own.
I don’t want to come like this. From just the rub of his cock. How tightly stretched is my arousal that just this brush with him can bring me to my knees? I push against his chest, squirm underneath him. “Please, I can’t. I’m about to …”
“I need it.” His gruff voice is close to my ear. The consistent firm strokes continue, the pump of his cock back and forth back and … OH MY.
I stop it somehow. Gasp for breath. Try to focus. Try to fight a battle I am seconds from losing. I don’t know why I am fighting it. How I am managing. But all I know is that every second of this is incredible, and I don’t want to lose it—can’t lose it. Not right now. Not just yet. I need another ten seconds, or fifty, or five hundred. I need this man to never stop anything he is doing, to—
My elbows give out, and I collapse, my back bucking, every muscle in my legs contracting as the purest form of ecstasy blinds my world, grips my heart, and shudders through my body.
* * *
A metallic scrape. The rip, crackle. I see a bit of gold flutter to the scrunched fabric of the white duvet. Moving my eyes to between my legs, I see the hot brand of his cock lifted, busy in his hands, wrapped and secured, then his hands still, and I drag my eyes up, over his stomach, which moves slightly with heavy breaths. Up over the strength of his chest, the defined muscles in his shoulders, the shadow on his face, the swollen breath of his lips. His eyes, blazing with intensity, watching me carefully as he growls out a sigh. I don’t move, don’t pull my eyes from him, but feel the weight of latexed cock against my sensitive clit as he leans forward slightly, a finger surprising me when he presses it through the seal of my sex.
A moan sighs through my lips at the change in his eyes that occurs, the drug of arousal moving through them, dulling his spark, his mouth opening further. He closes his eyes for a moment, his finger moving slowly and deliciously inside of me, and then reopens, control reestablished. I don’t want his control. I want him ravaging me, taking me harder, rougher, his strength untapped, sexuality grabbing ahold of him and dragging him by his lapels to the throne of me, where he will forever be my sexual slave.
“Are you sure?”
I groan in response, his finger cupping, stroking. My pussy so wet I am shaking for him.
“Answer me. I need to hear it.” His voice is rough. Control shaken. Good.
I open my eyes. Reestablish contact. Let him see the resolution there. “Yes. Please. Now.”
He leans forward, braces himself above me on the bed, his face a foot from mine, my vision filled with the beautiful look of Brett, and shifts his hips down slightly and thrusts.
Mother of—I whimper, reach up and grip his shoulders, pull him closer as my mouth opens in silent exclamation. It has been too long. I can’t go without it for this long ever again. On second thought, maybe the reason this feels this incredible is because I have been without. But either way, the stretch of my muscles around his cock … the heat inside me as he slowly thrusts, in and out, back and forth, my silent cries turning a little louder, becoming words, moans, begs, pleas. “Don’t ever stop … Brett—I … “
He gives it to me slow. Letting me adjust before his speed picks up, thrusts roughening right at the moment when I am ready for it. I wrap my legs around his waist. Dig my heels into the lickable meat of his ass. Squeeze the heat of his skin with my legs, stare up into his face as he buries his cock in repeated succession, the quickened pace containing an edge of desperation, of wild inhibition.
“Right there, I’m about to …”
I bellow, the howl of a woman overtaken, and he groans at the sound, lowers his face to my neck, inhales my scent as my voice breaks. I lose all focus, all ability to understand anything but that he hasn’t stopped, hasn’t slowed, is carrying me on this high which is not, will not stop, until it takes ahold of my soul and makes me his own.
He pulls me back to life, gripping my face with both hands, lowering his face to mine, and diving into my mouth. Kissing me strong. Ragged breaths between deep kisses, his cock continues its steady thrust, my hands greedy against his chest, scraping across the ridges of his side, scratching lines of need into his back. Then he breaks the kiss, his hands tightening a little on my face, our eyes holding until a groan drags from his throat, his eyes closing, head dropping, thrusts slowing and deepening, until he is buried and still inside of me. His hands drop my face, my name rolls off his lips as he eases down, his body flush to mine, and it feels, in that moment, like we are fused—souls, bodies, and mind—completely together.
