“God,” he muttered. “This dress.”
Pride sparked in me, a welcomed respite. His arousal was thick, insistent. I struggled to catch up as we all but mated in the hallway, minus the intercourse.
Colin’s hand parted my legs and stroked me.
I shut my eyes tight as if I could lock out my thoughts and just feel. His fingers were thick at my entrance, the calluses providing a delicious friction. His body loomed large around me, shielding me from the outside world. His lips on mine were hot and hungry.
I slickened below, just a bit. Thank God. I could do this.
I wasn’t quite ready. Not physically. I was barely wet; nothing close to what Colin could bring me to, drenched and supple. Not mentally. My mind was still running replays from earlier. I wasn’t in the mood right now, and my body had only begun to recognize what Colin wanted.
Colin shook with his arousal. He intimidated me with it, looking angry and intense, though I knew by now that was eagerness. I tugged him up the stairs, past the room where Bailey slept, and into his bedroom—our bedroom—and shut the door. I slipped off my panties and kicked them aside, then bent over the bed and looked back. He understood. With quick, jerky movements, he lifted my skirt and entered me.
I gasped as his cock stretched me. He paused. I wanted to do this for him. I needed to. I tilted my hips back to allow him deeper access, accepting the sharp pain without further sound.
He pulled out, almost completely, and then rammed back in. My teeth gritted together and my fingers whitened on the bedspread, but I would take it. He grabbed my shoulders and set up a rhythm of deep, punishing thrusts. He seemed lost in his pleasure, unable to notice my confusion, which I was grateful for. The air was too thick to breathe. My thoughts too murky to pierce. I didn’t think I could talk—or orgasm, for that matter—if he had wanted something more than my compliance.
Colin flipped me over. I spread my legs wide, and he entered me again with deep, rooting thrusts. He slammed into me, pushing me up the bed. His wrists were beside my shoulders, and I reached up to grasp them, to anchor myself.
The pillow smashed between my head and the headboard. It was just a pillow. A soft pressure, especially considering the force of Colin’s thrusts. But it triggered something in me, something hard.
Cold washed over my body. My skin prickled into goose bumps. My nipples were oversensitive, abraded against his chest. My cunt felt sore, like pulverized meat. My clit felt smashed under the thrusts of his pubic bone.
I made no move to stop the sex. This was just a way for my body to service his. My discomfort was small and well earned.
He noticed, though, and reached down to touch my clit. I jumped. “No. Don’t,” slipped out.
His hand stilled, and he slowed his hips to a gentle rocking. “What’s wrong?”
“Just keep going.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just…just finish.”
Damned if the man wasn’t as contrary as I was. He froze, still inside.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“It’s nothing.” As if we could have an actual conversation while his stiff cock was still lodged deep inside me. “Just do it.” I put a challenge in my voice and my eyes. “Fuck me.”
I knew he wanted to by the way his hips rocked forward as if testing the waters. Coming up dry, he pulled out and sprawled across the bed, catching his breath.
I felt hot and cold at the same time. And raw. As if the physical barricades had been burned away, leaving me exposed. Helpless. All I could think about was ending this night so we could get back to normal—at least our version of normalcy.
The room was silent except for our breathing, and I had the inappropriate urge to giggle. I managed to restrain myself. All I needed was another bout of hysteria for him to peg me as crazy, not that he’d be wrong.
Colin broke the silence. “Was I too rough?”
“No.” And before he could ask anything else, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
For the second time in our relationship, I retreated to the bathroom after sex. I slammed the door to let him know he wasn’t invited this time. To ask him to follow me again.
From on top of the toilet seat, I watched the doorknob. My ears listened for footsteps or the turn of the knob, but none came. I wanted for him to come, but he never did.
I should be grateful that he’d listened to me. After feeling invisible at Philip’s, after raging for control over my body for years, the fact that he’d granted my request should be bliss.
For the first time since I’d met him, I felt truly alone.
Hard
Skye Warren
Thank you for reading the Chicago Underground series! You can join my Facebook group for fans to discuss the series here: Skye Warren’s Dark Room. And you can sign up for my newsletter to find out about new releases at skyewarren.com/newsletter.
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Chapter One