She gasped, writhing beneath me, pushing her hips upward.
She was eager—ridiculously so. And I was damn near desperate to fuck her again. I wanted to pour inside her. I wanted to look into her eyes as I let loose and filled her.
Nila’s hands grabbed the back of my neck, guiding my face to hers. Licking my bottom lip, her warm tongue was searing torture.
My stomach clenched.
Kissing her deeply, I stiffened. Pulling back, I drank my fill of her naked body. I’d seen most parts of her—either running, hiding in a tree, or spread-eagled on a table—but her bruised skin and elongated muscles seemed to control my cock completely.
My brain scattered as I followed the hollow path of her belly to her sharp hipbones over silky skin. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on her delicate frame. She had abs that were impressive but cute and a * that was tight and hidden demurely by perfect pink lips.
She was pure female—the embodiment of fragility and tenacity that I coveted and fantasised about.
The things I wanted to do to her. The things I’d always locked away bubbled beneath the surface.
I hadn’t noticed before, but she had a singular subtle scent of freshness—a comforting perfume that was both an aphrodisiac and intoxicant, making me fall deeper into hell.
I wanted to tell her she was beautiful.
I wanted to tell her what she was doing to me.
But I couldn’t.
Grabbing her breast, I pinched her nipple, before bowing my head and sucking it into my mouth.
She moaned, clamping my head to her chest. Every lash of my tongue made my cock ripple with need.
Her hands were insatiable as they slid over my burning shoulders, kneading, stroking, seeming to both calm and drive me wild.
I crawled back up her body.
Her eyes latched onto mine, glowing with things that were too intense and painful. My heart cleaved and lurched, exceeding my realm of ability to function.
Frantically clawing at a small hint of ice, I kissed her deeply.
It should’ve just been a kiss, but her mouth had a sorcery against my control. Her silent plea for more whispered around us; her body shifted and begged beneath mine, driving me closer to throwing myself into the pit that I’d climbed from and not give a flying fuck about anything anymore.
“I want you inside me, Jethro,” she whispered, her breath misting over my skin.
My hand went to her throat, tensing around the tender column. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you.”
She moaned, “Then stop delaying.”
“No, I like watching you squirm.” I dropped my nose to where I cupped her throat. “After all, you won again, Ms. Weaver—”
“Nila. Please…you can call me Ms. Weaver when we aren’t millimetres from claiming each other.”
I shook my head. “As I was saying, before you rudely interrupted.” I bit her bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth. “You won because I fucked you.”
“I think you won on that account, too.”
I licked her, tracing the tip of my tongue along her jaw, making her tremble. “You didn’t beg though, did you?”
She stiffened, a small moan echoing in her chest. “Don’t…don’t make me.”
A small smile played on my mouth. “Oh, I’ll make you, Ms. Weaver.” Nuzzling into her throat, I kissed a cold diamond on her collar. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
She growled, “Just put it in me, Jethro.”
I chuckled. “Just put it in me? That’s hardly romantic.”
“This isn’t romantic. If it was, we’d have candles and rose petals and soft music. This is a means to an end.”
I reared up on my elbows. “A means to an end?” I shouldn’t be hurt, but goddammit I was.
Nila clenched her stomach, reaching for me. “I want to come. You want to come. Stop prolonging it.”
My cock wept at her distress—she’d passed the edge of common sense. I wanted to give in—fuck, how I wanted to—but I also wanted to win just once. She’d somehow become the victor in all our battles. This one I intended to walk away the vanquisher.
Slamming my hand on her sternum, I pressed her against the mattress and scooted down her body. Every inch I travelled, I nipped and sucked—her nipple, every rib to her naval.
“Jethro…” she panted, her hands once again diving into my hair. My heart did weird things when she held me like that—her fingernails digging into my scalp, her barely restrained lust causing pinpricks of pain that felt better than any pleasure.
“Tell me what I want to hear, Ms. Weaver. Then I’ll give you what you want.”
“I won’t. I won’t beg. You’ll break before me.”
I laughed softly, rimming her belly button with the tip of my tongue. “Are you so sure about that?”
She’s right.
My cock hadn’t stopped throbbing, and the sticky wetness at the top told me I’d been unsuccessful in stopping my need.
She yanked on my hair, trying to pull me up. Biting her flat stomach, I caught her wrists and pinned them against the mattress. “No more touching, Ms. Weaver. Remember that control I mentioned? Well, I need it.” Blowing air on her *, which was mouth level and glistening, I murmured, “You have the tightest, wettest, greediest cunt I’ve ever had the pleasure to taste. And I plan on dining again. Take your time and decide if it’s beneath you to beg.”
“Bastard,” she growled, fighting my hold on her wrists.
“I’m the bastard?” I positioned myself, swiping my wet tongue along her slit. Her back bowed as her breath caught. “I’m the bastard for wanting to give you pleasure instead of pain?”
Stop that.
I hadn’t meant to say that. Another slip. Another fucking dangerous slip.
Nila didn’t notice as I tongued her again, diving below and dipping quickly and intrusively inside her.
“Ah!”
A violent shiver of lust commandeered my muscles. My ears roared with the need to forget about taunting her and fuck her dirty and wrong.
“Jethro…please…”