Текст книги "Monster"
Автор книги: Jessica Gadziala
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Twelve
Breaker
I wanted to go to her. When she was telling me about her mom. I could feel the sorrow of it in her words. The air around her was heavy with it. But along with it was that strange aura of detachment that she always wore. Like she needed to remove herself from the equation. And I wondered for the first time if maybe it wasn't just how she was. If maybe it was a defense mechanism, a way to survive when she was on her own. Maybe it wasn't the real Alex Miller.
And I found myself wanting to know the real one.
But I also knew from the strange hollowness of her words and the way she was holding her shoulders that she wouldn't let me in. If I went to her, she would shrink away. So I stayed in the middle of the kitchen and listened. Even though it was killing me a little to not lend her some strength. Or demand some emotional honesty.
Then she was finally done speaking. I couldn't fight it. I went to her. And I put my arms around her. She melted into it for a minute, letting me hold her, before I felt her stiffen suddenly, and pull away.
Then she had to go and get mouthy.
And, well, Alex being mouthy was almost as hot as Alex blushing, or Alex kissing me back like she hadn't ever been kissed before.
I just couldn't help myself.
Apparently, neither could she.
Seeing her bent over my counter, ass up, inviting me in. Yeah, probably the hottest fuckin' thing I had ever seen in my life. Being inside her, listening to her moans, hearing her call my name as her pussy grabbed my cock... yeah it was worth whatever fucked up shit that was sure to be coming both of our ways because of it.
Her arms went up and around my neck afterward, my arms holding her to me as her breathing settled, her legs got steady enough to hold her without support. I grabbed her tee and handed it back to her and took my clothes and made my way to the bathroom.
By the time I got back, she already had the steak cut into slices on plates next to big piles of potatoes.
At my raised brow, she ducked her head, blushing a little. “If I wasn't hungry before... I am now,” she admitted in a quiet voice, making a chuckle rumble through my chest. It wasn't that I was a man of little humor. Hell, when your best friend is someone the likes of Shooter, you're going to have a stitch in your side constantly. But there was something about her awkwardness that was both sexy as hell and hilariously endearing. I never found myself laughing with (or at) women. My reaction to Alex was different. New. Interesting.
“Where are you going?” I asked, watching her walk past me with the plates, bypassing the stools pressed up against the island, past the living room, and making her way toward the hall.
“Figured we'd eat in bed,” she said, not even bothering to turn around.
“Beds are for fucking and sleeping,” I said, watching her freeze and turn back to me.
Her brows were raised, a confused smile tugging at her lips. “What?”
“Fucking and sleeping. Generally in that order. You don't eat in bed.”
“Why the hell not?” she asked, waving a plate-filled hand out to the side.
“You seriously eat in your bed?”
At this, she snorted. “Have you seen my apartment?” she asked, smiling. “Aside from my desk chair, the only place I have to sit is my bed. It doubles as a dining room, couch, office, pedicure chair...”
“Alright,” I said, agreeing her place was a hellhole that maybe necessitated something like that kind of arrangement. “But we ain't eating in bed,” I said, gesturing a hand toward the kitchen counter. At this, she exhaled loudly, shaking her head and made her way back over, slamming the plates down loudly.
“Just saying... the bed would be more comfortable,” she shrugged, pulling out a stool and sitting down. I shook my head at her, going to the fridge to grab a couple beers. “So you don't even like... late night snack in bed?” she asked. When I turned back, she was studying me with intense eyes.
“No doll,” I said, handing her a beer and sitting down to eat.
“Weird,” she said into the mouth of the beer bottle. We ate in silence for a minute, the air around Alex seeming to get more and more antsy by the moment as she started to fidget around. “Are we not going to talk about how odd that meeting was?” she finally asked, the words rushing out and into each other like she had been trying to hold them back for a while.
Yeah. Well. We should have talked about the meeting hours ago. But I sure as fuck wasn't going to stop putting my hands on her body to talk about the sick fuck who made her voice sound lifeless.
But I guessed it was time. She was fed, fucked, and generally more level-headed than usual.
“Sure,” I said, pushing my plate aside.
“That was weird, right?” she asked, turning fully to me, her knees pressing into my thigh and she left them there.
“Yeah, doll, that was weird.”
“He doesn't know I've been keeping tabs on him.”
“No, he doesn't.” If he did, she would have been long dead. Awful thought, but true nonetheless.
“So what the hell does he want you to hold onto me for?”
“That's a good question.” And one I had been mulling over nonstop since Lex walked out of that train car. Alex, aside from me knowing her mission in life was to take down Lex Keith, was a nobody. She had no friends. No family. She kept to herself. There was nothing about her that would draw Lex's attention. Aside from her being gorgeous. But if that was his motive, she wouldn't still be in my hands. Nothing about the situation made sense.
But I knew Lex. I knew how he operated. He had plans. And then he had plans to backup his plans. If he wanted Alex, he had a reason.
“And why keep Shooter?” she went on, her brows drawn together so two little vertical lines formed between them and I got a clear image of her doing that every time she sat down at her laptop. Like it was the look she got anytime she was trying to mull something over.
Shoot was another off-issue. I understood why he took him to begin with. Lex knew he was fuckin' with me. He knew I didn't like that shit. He wanted to make sure I would do as I was told. That made sense. It was smart.
But keeping Shoot even after I obviously showed I was doing my job? Yeah, I didn't get that.
It reeked of a bigger plan.
And that filled me with something that had never been very familiar to me: dread.
At least Alex had the presence of mind to give him a knife. Fuck. Some little nobody hacker was more on her game than I was. The fuck was going on with me?
“I don't know,” I finally answered.
“Between the two of us,” she went on, picking at her potatoes, but not eating any, “we seem to know Lex pretty well. None of this fits his usual M.O.” She was silent for a minute, then said so quietly it was mostly to herself, “What the hell does he want with me?”
I sighed, turning slightly in my chair and putting a hand on her thigh. “Dunno. But he ain't gonna get you. You and me... we'll feel this out. See if we can find out anything else. We can't, we get you the fuck outta here before he can come lookin' for you.”
“What about you and Shoot?” she asked, looking anxious.
“Let me worry about me and Shoot.”
“You're in this because of me,” she pressed.
“No,” I said, lowering my head and holding her eyes. “I am in this because Lex is an asshole who took the only person who is important to me so he could use me like a puppet. This ain't on you.”
“He took Shoot because he wanted you to take me,” she persisted.
“Doll, this is the job,” I said, shrugging. “You deal with fuckheads like Lex Keith... you get used to them doing dirty shit and getting you involved. That's why I get paid what I get paid. To put up with their shit. I've always accepted this. Shoot has always accepted it. The only fuck up we have is having such a close relationship and living in the same town. That shit catches up to you. We should have been more careful. This ain't on you. This is on me. This is the life I have chosen. Don't go taking my blame on your shoulders.”
She looked down at her plate. “I like Shooter. I mean... I know I only met him for a minute, but I liked him. He seems like good people.”
“The best,” I agreed. “Better by far than me. But he's smart, Alex. He's well trained. He has good instincts. I know it doesn't seem like it because of that smart mouth he's got, but it's true. In fact, those stupid ass comments he makes... it makes people underestimate him. Which works to his advantage. As far as survival goes, he has just as good a chance as we do even though he's in the belly of Lex's operation.”
To this, she made a short, humorless laugh. “That doesn't exactly bode well for any of us then.”
“Look,” I said, not liking her tone going back to empty, “it's late. We've had a fuckuva hard day. We need to get some shut eye and talk on this when we're rested.”
Alex took a breath, shrugging a shoulder. “Alright.”
“Alright,” I agreed, standing.
“Just throw me a blanket and a pillow and I'll be all set,” she said, getting up to take the dishes.
“Leave the dishes. And what the fuck you talking about?”
Her brows drew together. “A blanket and a pillow,” she repeated, waving a hand out toward the living room, “for the couch. So I can sleep. I mean, I can do without the pillow if you don't have any extras. But I'm like... practically naked here,” she waved down at her bare legs.
I felt a smile tugging at my lips. Did she seriously think I was going to let her sleep on the couch?
“You're in bed with me,” I said, moving toward the hallway.
“No, really. The couch is fine. I don't want to be... in the way.”
I stopped by the bathroom, turning to her, expecting to see her smiling like she was teasing me or something. But all I saw was seriousness.
“Doll, you're sleeping in bed with me. And I want you to be all up in my way. Oh and,” I said, giving her a slow up-and-down, “there will be no 'practically' about it. You're in my bed, you're naked.”
With that, I let myself into the bathroom, the image of her wide-eyed surprise burned in my brain as I stripped and jumped in the shower.
When I dried off and made my way back to the bedroom, towel slung low on my hips, I found her on the bed. Still in the tee. Legs hidden underneath the covers.
My lips quirked up when her gaze went to me. And, as if she couldn't help it, her eyes went down my chest and stomach, stopping at the towel. As soon as her gaze held there, I pulled the tuck and let it fall to the floor. She looked for a long second before her gaze went to the comforter around her waist.
“Thought I made the no clothes rule pretty clear,” I said, moving toward my side of the bed and pulling back the sheets.
“You can sleep however you want to. I like to have clothes on.”
“Fuck what you like,” I said, reaching over and hauling the shirt over her head and tossing it into the hallway.
“Seriously?” she asked, eyes burning into me as her arm went across her chest, covering her breasts.
“Yup.”
“You take your bed way too seriously,” she grumbled, sliding under the covers.
I laid back for a minute before reaching out and hauling her into my side. She let out a yelp and her hand settled on my stomach, trying to push back. “Relax.”
“I will if you let me go,” she said, still pushing.
I shook my head, dragging her half onto my chest, one arm locked around her shoulders, the other around her hips, one of her legs trapped between mine. I traced my fingers across her hip and she stopped struggling, rubbing her face against my chest and making a quiet whimpering sound in her throat that went right to my cock.
“Glad to know you're up for a fuck anytime my hands touch you, doll, but I'm beat so you're gonna have to suffer through till morning.” I smiled when I felt her try to raise herself up. “Go to sleep, Alex.”
“Stop being so fucking bossy,” she countered, but settled back down.
“Not gonna happen,” I said, squeezing her once before settling back.
Thirteen
Alex
I woke up cold.
That was how I knew that I was alone. Breaker's huge body had been like a furnace all night. A warm, snuggly furnace. If someone would had told me that Bryan Breaker: six feet-something of ruthless contract muscle and very rough sex-haver was a full-contact sleeper, I would have said they were crazy.
But that was before he ripped off his towel (hot), then ripped off my tee (even hotter) and hauled me against his body, completely trapping me with both his arms and one of his legs, and not letting me so much as twitch all night.
I thought I would feel claustrophobic. I had never slept in the same bed with someone else. And even though I had always slept on a tiny twin size, I always had plenty of room to roll and move around when I got restless. Which was frequently.
And I was never a deep, deep sleeper either. Every yell on the streets below my apartment and every beeping of a locking car woke me up. As did my usual nightly bad dreams.
But I slept through.
For the first time in I can't remember how long.
Part of it was likely due to the utter silence of Breaker's secluded house.
But that didn't explain why there weren't bad dreams.
I was trying really hard to not focus on that little fact.
How I slept through Breaker sneaking out from underneath me? Yeah, that was a complete mystery.
I pushed myself up in bed, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I made my way over to his dresser and grabbed a new tee, slipped into it, and scurried to the bathroom.
After some rummaging, I found an extra toothbrush and went to work on brushing them as well as frantically trying to finger-comb some semblance of order to my hair. Given the only option being hand soap, I forewent washing my face and made my way out to the living area.
Only to stop dead at seeing Breaker with his strong back to me, a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips, standing at the sink... washing dishes.
Washing. Dishes.
The site was so unexpected and strange that I felt a strange laugh escape my lips.
At the sound, Breaker's head turned over his shoulder. “What's funny?”
“You wash dishes?” I asked, stepping into the living room.
“How else they gonna get clean?”
“I don't know. I figured badasses didn't have to do stuff like that. That the dishes came alive and washed themselves out of fear of retribution or something.”
At this, he snorted, his eyes getting warm. “There's coffee.”
Okay. This was weird.
Not weird in a bad way.
Weird in a weird way.
Because it was so normal. It was the way countless people probably started their mornings. Doing banal chores. Sharing a smile. Offering each other coffee. It was positively... domestic.
At that, I laughed again.
Because men like Breaker should never be described as domestic.
I walked over to the coffee machine, pouring myself a cup and topping off his. Like a ritual.
Meanwhile, I had never topped off someone else's coffee ever before.
“You hungry?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable with the silence.
“You cook?”
“I can burn some toast,” I offered, going to grab the bread and putting two slices for myself into the toaster.
“Sure,” he said, drying off the potato skillet from the night before.
I stood watching the little crinkled metal coils heat up, feeling the urge to fill the silence. Which, in the past, was weird for me. But since I met Breaker, I couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut. “Where did you learn to cook?”
I felt rather than saw Breaker pause. “What?”
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mom.”
At this, I felt my head turn. “Really?”
Breaker picked up his coffee cup, leaning his hips against the counter, watching me. “Yeah. Really. She would let me pitch in when I was little. Before she died.”
Another dead mother. We were a sad pair.
“How old were you?” I asked, skipping over the condolences. No one wanted to hear that shit.
“Ten.”
Damn. Ten. That sucked. I got six extra years with mine.
“Was your dad in the picture?” I asked, knowing I was prying, expecting him to shut me out. That's what people did. That's what I did.
“If by 'in the picture' you mean around to beat the ever loving shit out of me everyday, then yeah.”
I felt myself wince at that.
I had been slapped by a foster parent or two. I knew how humiliating and powerless that felt. I couldn't imagine how it felt when it was an actual parent hitting you. When it was their blood in your veins. When there was no hope of ever getting transferred out.
Besides, I was now familiar with how it felt to have a grown man's fist hit you. And it wasn't fun. My jaw hurt when I opened it. Just a twinge from the pretty blue bruise I had marring my skin, but still, it hurt. And that was just one punch.
“Was he a drunk like Shoot's dad?” I asked, hoping that was it. Otherwise, what excuse could there be?
“No, doll. He was just a dick. Before it was me, it was my mom.”
“He beat your mom?” I asked, my voice sounding weird. Weak.
“Yeah.”
That's why. That was why he freaked out about not hitting me. Not because he was just a noble guy. A decent person. Because he had watched his father wail on his defenseless mother growing up. And when she was gone, he was the stand in.
Crap.
I had been kinda insensitive telling him to get over it.
But how was I supposed to know?
“How did she die?” I asked. I was curious and he was, apparently, really forthcoming about his past.
“Lung cancer,” he said easily. “She didn't smoke. But Pops did.”
Oh god.
Okay.
My story was starting to sound less horrific than his.
Not that it was a contest. But if it was... he would win. Easy.
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and felt a wave of horror wash over me. That wasn't me. I wasn't the crying kind of girl. I was the put your chin up, throw your shoulders back, and pretend nothing got to you kind of girl. I wasn't going to cry for little ten year old Breaker while big, manly, reasonably well-adjusted Breaker stood a few feet from me.
His eyes warmed for a second watching me. Like maybe he knew what I was struggling with. Then, his voice a little amused, “Your toast is burning.”
I whipped around, hitting the buttons and, sure enough, they were blackened. But salvageable. I rummaged around for a knife and scraped the char off over the garbage before buttering them.
“Thanks babe,” he said easily, taking a triangle and biting into it.
I hadn't thanked him for dinner.
Shit.
Okay.
I needed to like... muster up some basic social skills or something.
I munched on a piece of toast, looking out the window into his backyard. “So, um, like...” oh my god. I needed to stop mumbling. “What do you... do?”
His head tilted to the side. “What?”
“When you're not... working? What do you do?”
He shrugged. “Workout. Watch movies. Go out with Shoot or Paine.”
A part of me realized that going out with Shoot or Paine (whoever the hell that was) involved all three of them taking off in different directions with different women. I pushed down the weird twinge of jealousy.
We had sex.
That didn't give me the right to plant my flag in him.
He probably fucked around all the time.
Why was I even thinking about his former sexual conquests? That was totally none of my business. He wasn't wondering about mine. And he damn well wasn't feeling jealous about them. Not that he should seeing as they were just... pathetic compared to him.
“Alex,” his voice called and my head snapped to him. “Called you twice,” he said, making me blush slightly.
“Sorry. I was... somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
At this, I got a brow raise. “What's with the fuckin' walls, doll?”
“What walls?”
“The ten foot tall barbed wire ones you wear around you like a security blanket.”
Well hell.
He got me.
But that didn't mean he needed to know that.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You're not trying to keep me at a distance?”
“Don't be ridiculous.”
Breaker put his mug down on the counter, shaking his head. “Babe, I'm pretty sure it was you I was inside last night,” he started and I felt my cheeks heat. He did not just say that. “I know what you feel like and sound like when you come. I know what you taste like. And you don't think you can tell me what you were just thinking about a minute ago? You don't think you can let me in just a little bit?”
“For what purpose?”
“Because that's what people do, Alex,” he said, his voice getting harsh. “You can't live a life hiding behind a computer, telling yourself vengeance is more important than living. Making connections. Going out. Sharing your story. What the fuck are you so scared of?”
“I'm not scared of anything!” I screeched, throwing away the rest of my toast, no longer hungry. I had never had an argument with a guy. Not ever. It was weird and it was making my belly twist and turn. And my old trusty friend anger was rearing his ugly head.
“Bull fucking shit, Alex. You're scared of everything.”
That wasn't true. I wasn't scared of anything. Not the way most people were. Not in a way that made them cautious, that made them second guess things they wanted to do. I just barreled ahead, to hell with the consequences. What was the worst that could happen? I'd die? So what?
“No, I'm not...”
“You're so scared of life that you're not fuckin' scared of dyin', Alex,” he said, his voice softer and his words fell with a weighted feeling inside me.
Because he was right.
He was right.
And that was, at once, really frustrating and overwhelmingly upsetting.
I was scared to live a life that didn't involve revenge. I didn't even know what a life like that would mean. If that was taken away from me, what would I have left?
I didn't even have to pause to know that answer: nothing. I would have nothing.
I felt my shoulders sag, my head looking down at my feet.
God, I was pretty pathetic.
“Don't do that,” Breaker's voice cut in and I could see his feet moving toward me. “Don't pull away just because I'm right,” he said, his hand going under the side of my jaw that wasn't bruised.
“Just leave me alone, Breaker,” I said, my voice small. Was it really so hard to see that I wanted to be alone? That I had some shit to sort through?
“That ain't gonna happen. You're gonna stop burrowing into yourself and let me in.”
“Why do you care?” I shot out, my gaze lifting to his and realizing immediately that it was a mistake.
“Because you came crashing into my life talking about twisted porn and taking down the city's worst crime lord in years. You showed me your grit and determination. Your weird brand of selfless strength. Your smart fuckin' mouth. And your phenomenal fuckin' body. You gave me that. For a day, Alex. A fucking day. And I can't get enough of it. So I want more.”
“What if I can't give you more?”
“You can,” he said simply, his thumb stroking across my lips. “But maybe that can wait a bit,” he said, his gaze falling to my mouth.
“Wait?” I asked, feeling a heaviness settling on my chest, a heat rising in my belly.
“First I think I need a reminder about that phenomenal body,” he clarified.
At his words, there was that pre-orgasm fluttering again and I pressed my thighs tighter against it.
“That I can give you,” I said carefully, watching as his eyes darkened.
“God damn right you can,” he said, stepping away. Then moving away, turning his back on me and going toward the living room. “Ain't gonna wait all day for you to follow me,” he called as he lowered himself down onto the couch. “Get your pretty little ass over here and ride me.”
Oh.
Geez.
Okay.
Alright.
Before my mind could even make the decision, my feet were carrying me toward him. I moved around the front of him, standing between his open legs.
“Tee off,” he instructed, watching me in a lazy way.
I reached for the hem and hauled off the tee, dropping it on the floor next to my feet. I took a shaky breath, watching his eyes move slowly down my body, then just as slowly back up.
“Go get a condom out of the nightstand,” he instructed and I reached self-consciously for my tee again. “No,” he said, putting his foot down on it. “Go like that.”
“Breaker...” I tried to reason.
“Like when you say my name. I like it better when you say it when I'm inside you. So go get a fuckin' condom so I can hear that again.”
Flutter flutter flutter.
He was killing me and he hadn't so much as brushed the air around me. So I swallowed hard against the insecurity, turned, and made my way back to the bedroom. I grabbed a condom out of his nightstand and made my way back, trying like hell to keep my chin up and a blush off my cheeks. A mantra like one of those ridiculous self-help hypnosis cds playing in my head on a loop: I am a strong, confident, sexually experienced woman who does not need to feel ashamed of her nudity.
I handed the condom to Breaker who slipped his sweatpants down, casually pulling out his hard cock, and slipping it on.
I felt a clench in my sex at the sight before his eyes rose to me again. “Come here,” he said, his voice rough and soft at the same time. Which didn't seem possible, but it was.
I moved toward him, putting a knee on either side of his thighs so I was straddling him. His hands immediately went to my hips, moving up and over my ribs, running across the sensitive undersides of my breasts before covering them and squeezing, making my head fall back on a groan as my hips lowered, seeking him and the fulfillment he offered.
“You already wet for me, doll?” he asked, one of his hands going around my back to push me forward toward him, his head ducking so his mouth could take my nipple, rolling his tongue over it until it was straining, then sucking hard.
“Yes,” I admitted, my hips rocking across his cock.
“Then take my cock,” he said, moving over to the other nipple and repeating the torture until my rocking became more frantic and I reached down between us, taking his cock in my hand, and moved it toward the entrance, pausing when he pressed against me. His head rose, one of his hands going to the back of my neck and digging in. “Take me inside you, Alex,” he instructed, and the flutter was so strong it was practically a full-blown orgasm. So I lowered my hips, feeling him press across the threshold and closing my eyes on a moan. “No,” he said, the hand on the back of my neck tightening hard enough to bruise. “Look at me when you fuck me.”
My eyes opened slowly, feeling heavy, like I had to fight to keep them open. Until I found his ice blue eyes, seeing the coolness there completely absent, replaced entirely by warmth, by heat. And I never wanted to look away.
“'Kay,” I said quietly, feeling him bury to the hilt.
“Show me how you want it,” he told me, his other hand moving to press at the lowest part of my back, just above my ass.
Then I started moving. At first, just rocking my hips forward and back before starting an up and down thrust, feeling my body clench hard around him every time his cock withdrew.
“You like it slow?” he asked, not sounding disappointed, despite that 'no slow and sweet lover' warning he had given me before.
But even as he asked, I could feel the desire reaching a fever-pitch, becoming an overwhelming, clawing need to be released. And my hips started moving faster, my breathing becoming more ragged, my heart slamming. My hands moved to his hard chest, digging in slightly as my pace became more and more erratic, too far gone to keep it steady.
“Fuck,” he growled, both of his hands moving until they were at my hips and he held them in place, his body suddenly starting to move under mine, thrusting up into me in a fast, steady pace that had the whimpers becoming load, constant moans as my body felt the end coming close. “Tell me you like when I fuck you,” he said in a deep, struggling voice.
“I like when you fuck me,” I answered immediately. It was true. Painfully so. “Oh my god... fuck...” I groaned, my nails nipping into the skin of his chest as I felt the tightening deep in my core, the threat of the explosion. Then his cock thrust upward again and I felt my orgasm tearing through my system, his name coming out on a strangled gasp.
I fell forward, my face burying into his neck as it rolled through me, making my body jolt in aftershocks.
He kept thrusting even as my moans became a murmured contentment. “Nuh uh, doll, ain't done with you yet,” he said, sounding amused as he suddenly knifed up to a standing position, taking me with him, wrapped around his center.
Arms around his shoulders, face buried in his neck, I had no idea we were even moving until I felt my back slam against a wall.
My head snapped up to find him looking down at me, a devilish smirk at his lips. “You got to do it your way. Now I get to do it mine.”
I felt a thrill shoot through me at the words. But then his hands were sliding from my hips, going behind my knees, making then tilt up and my hips jolt down awkwardly and if I wasn't pressed against the wall, I would have been on my ass. He yanked my knees up higher and held them up as he started slamming into me, his hips hitting my inner thighs with each thrust in a way that was going to end up bruising. But I was too far gone to care as his thickness pushed me mercilessly back upward, making my breathing that had just leveled out become hitched and ragged.
His face titled, moving next to my ear as his body jerked ruthlessly into mine. “Sweet fuckin' pussy,” he growled. “You like it rough?” he asked, not needing to as I was mid moan as he did.
“Yes.”
His head tilted, taking my lips to his and crushing into them as his pace got somehow even faster.
The tightening inside strengthened and I felt myself begging against his lips, “Don't stop.”
“Not till you're fuckin' screamin',” he promised back, his tongue moving forward to claim mine.
It was seconds... seconds later that I felt the coil inside snap, sending with it the pulsating rush of pleasure that was stronger than any I had ever known before.
Then I screamed. Like he said. His name. Like he liked.
His head lifted, watching my face as he thrust through my orgasm, drawing it out, then burying deep as he came, growling out my name.
“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he said against my neck a few minutes later.
Unable to make my brain and voice box work together to form words, I felt my head nodding. That seemed to cover it. Jesus fucking Christ.
“I hurt you?” he asked, pulling backward, his hands sliding from under my knees to under my ass.
