“Will you take off the bra, or should I just rip it off?”
I reached back and undid the clasp, then pulled it off and tossed it on top of the shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I want,” he said as he unfastened the button on my jeans then eased the zipper down. “My rules.” He slid his hand inside the jeans and under my panties, then eased one finger inside me, his smug grin widening when he found me not just wet, but drenched. “Mine. Say it, Kat.”
“Yours,” I said, finding it hard to make a sound, much less form words.
“And once you’re naked, I’m going to fuck you. So hard it makes you scream, and everyone in here will know exactly what we’re doing.”
“Cole, no.” But the words were for propriety only, and he damn well knew it. I was too turned on by what he said, and no matter what protests I might form into words, my body told the truth. And the way my sex throbbed and tightened around his finger in anticipation of what he’d described was the most eloquent admission of all.
He didn’t bother to argue. He just bent down and tugged off my shoes, then eased my jeans over my hips until they were in a heap on the floor as well. He left my panties on, though, then pulled me off the counter and turned me around so that I was standing up and facing the mirror.
I saw myself there, my hands pressed flat on the vanity, my breasts full and heavy, my nipples dark with arousal. My face was flush, my eyes a little glassy. And Cole loomed behind me, still fully dressed, all power and control and pure masculine heat.
I heard the musical sound of his zipper, then the press of his cock against my ass. “Spread your legs, baby,” he said, but I already had. I wanted this—I might have started out angry, but Cole had turned it all around on me, and now the only thing I wanted was to feel him inside me. The only thing I needed was to do as he said—to let myself go and just feel.
He made a low noise of satisfaction, then reached down and stroked me through my panties. “Oh, yes,” he said. “You’re ready.”
“Yes,” I whispered, then gasped as he yanked the thin strip of satin to one side. “Bend over. That’s right,” he said, and I felt the insistent press of his cock against me, and then the sweet, hard push as he thrust inside.
His hands were on my hips, and as he moved forward, he pulled me back. He filled me completely, and the look on his face—such passion, such intensity—made me almost come right there.
He hadn’t taken off his pants, and the material rubbed my rear as he pistoned against me. The knowledge that I was essentially naked and he was clothed—that he was taking me in this stall, that he could take me anywhere he damn well pleased—shot through me, enticing and terrifying and oh-so satisfying.
He kept one hand on my hip, but the other snaked around to tease my sex. The sensations were almost more than I could bear. The tease of his fingers on my hard, sensitive clit. The rhythmic pounding of his pelvis against my ass. The almost painful way he filled me, going so deep inside me, and with such steady and relentless power.
And then—oh my god—then he abandoned my clit to reach around and pinch my nipples, holding tight and twisting slightly, so that the frenzy of heated fizzles that shot from my breasts to my sex added yet another sensation to the erotic symphony that was building within me.
“Does that hurt?” he asked, squeezing even tighter.
“Yes,” I whispered, hoping that the truth wouldn’t make him stop.
“Do you like it?”
“God, yes.”