I didn’t remove my finger. I was in charge. I was the one taking. “My heart hates you but my body….I’m drenched. I’m begging. So stop your endless questions. Stop taunting me and deliver.”
Kite flew into my mind, then was gone. I’d surpassed awkward sexting, embracing physical coyness.
The world paused for a millisecond.
Jethro sucked in a shocked breath. Then his hand left my *, tore the small stitches holding my knickers in place, and drove one finger so damn deep inside me, I did what I said I would.
I screamed.
My head fell back, smashing against the wall. My heart exploded into a mess of passion and rage.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
My mouth sucked in air, but it didn’t stop the swirling, blinding need stealing my remaining sanity, giving me completely and utterly to Jethro. I cried inside. I wailed inside. I wished I could be different. Someone not so deprived of her animalistic needs. Someone who could scream and call for help. Not someone who tilted their hips and moaned at the curses spilling from Jethro’s lips. Not someone who gripped the man who tore her from her world and opened her legs wider.
But then Jethro touched a spot that made my eyes pop wide, muscles to lock, and a need so violent to seize, I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to take me harder. My tears turned to joy, writhing on Jethro’s hand.
“Fuck. Me.” His voice was sex-gruffed and so low it echoed over cobblestones. “Who the fuck are you?” His finger worked me, pulsating deep inside.
I melted in his hands. I opened my legs as wide as I could. I gave up on everything, embracing the simplicity of being a sexually starved creature.
This wasn’t making love. This wasn’t even fucking. This was war. And hell it felt good.
Digging my fingernails into his shoulders, I jerked him closer. “Harder,” I breathed.
Jethro groaned, and in a twist of fate—obeyed. His finger drove so deep his knuckles nudged against my swollen flesh. His thumb swirled around my clit, smearing wetness, taking me to ever new heights.
I turned to stone before detonating into tiny pieces. Every inch of my thoughts, emotions, and reactions were stolen by his mind-blowing touch. I hadn’t felt anything like it.
Guilt tried to claim me, reminding me this was the man who ruined my life. But lust quickly devoured the guilt, turning it to raging passion.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, thrusting his finger harder.
I felt as if I’d not been living. As if my world was dark and Jethro was the sun bringing me nutrition I never knew I needed.
A painful pressure burned as he tried to fit two fingers inside me.
I flinched, rocking my hips away. “Stop—”
He paused, then removed the second digit, driving a single finger deep, dragging me back to willing. “You’re a virgin. The rumours were true.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” He grabbed my chin, holding me firm, driving his finger harder. I cried out, letting my head loll on my useless neck with bliss. “How are you this tight and not a virgin?”
“Once. I only—” I stopped, consumed with every pulse of Jethro’s finger. “I’m—”
I gave up.
I was completely illiterate—unable to form words.
“If you’re not a virgin, prove it.” His fingers tightened around my chin. “Pull out my cock.”
My mind blanked out. I hung onto the precipice of my good girl ways before throwing myself head first into a woman who would do anything to feel alive.
“Pull out my cock, Ms. Weaver.” He thrust against me, battering me with the hardness in his jeans.
My eyes flared wide. My stomach hollowed out at the same time swooped upright as he thrust his finger.
“Goddammit,” he growled. “Do it. I’m not going to come in my fucking jeans like an idiot.”
Would he fuck me? If I took out his cock, would he take me?
Sex? With him?
I…
I couldn’t have sex with him. This cold-hearted monster. But my raging heart and bubbling blood said yes. God, yes.
Shutting off my thoughts, I dropped my hands from his shoulders and fumbled with the buckle of his crocodile belt.
The hardness of his erection burned my fingertips. Jethro didn’t help my concentration, driving his touch deeper. “Hurry up. I need your sweet fingers jerking me off. Goddammit, I don’t know—” His voice cut off as I undid his button and zipper.
I gasped as his cock sprang out, escaping the top of his grey boxer-briefs. He shuddered, groaning in relief. The tip glistened with wetness, slightly red, slightly swollen.
My eyes grew wide, fear chasing away the lust in my veins. I looked up, swallowing hard. “You’re…I can’t—”
He scowled. “Too late to back out now, woman.” Grabbing my hand, he placed it roughly around his thick hard massive cock. I had no experience to go on, but he would never fit inside me. He wouldn’t fit inside any woman.
“Shut up and stroke me.”
I opened my mouth, unable to form words. “It can’t—there’s no way—”
In a lightning fast move, he jerked his finger from my core, smearing my dampness on my cheek as he pinched me hard. “You’re out of excuses, Ms. Weaver. You were the one who started this. You’re the one who rode my fucking finger as if you’d never come before.” His voice dropped to a dark whisper. “So shut up, wrap those little fingers around my cock and stroke me, otherwise I swear to God I’ll throw you on your hands and knees and fuck your tight little cunt right here.”
My heart lurched, terror pinged in my blood. There wouldn’t be anything erotic about that. It would hurt. He would split me in two.
Biting my lip, I cupped the exposed head, spreading the sticky residue at the top down his hot shaft. Locking eyes with Jethro, I pushed my hand into his boxers, following his long, long length.
His eyes snapped closed as my timid fingers latched round him. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned. His forehead smashed against mine, hips pulsating into my hand. “Stop taunting me. Harder, goddammit.”