Before I Ever Met You

“What the fuck?” I cry out and try and turn around.

“I'll buy you new ones,” he says gruffly, moments before he grabs my ass, squeezing hard so I stay in place. I flinch, the pressure from his fingertips is firm and yet the moment he yields, I want it even more.

He pulls me toward him as he positions himself and with one swift jerk, pushes into me. The air is expelled from my chest as he fills me, a gasp broken on my lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks, shuddering the words as he pushes himself fully inside.

I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can only feel, every single inch of his hard cock as I squeeze around him. I try and nod, get my breath.

His grip around my ass tightens. “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle,” he says. “But I can promise you’ll come so hard you won’t know any name but mine.”

Holy hell. His words shock me to the core, dirty enough to make my skin grow even hotter. I’m on fire inside and out.

“Does that sound good?” he asks, his voice thicker now. “Can you handle that?” He pauses, slowly pulling out in such a teasing, languid way that it’s torturous. I feel empty, aching for him, I want him to fill me up and up and up, like a balloon ready to burst.

“Give me hell,” I tell him and if I feel a flash of embarrassment over talking like this, it’s over in a second because his hand cracks across my ass with a loud slap as he hisses, “Yes,” and then he’s pounding into me, fast and deep and relentless. Over and over and over again, this breakneck pace that has me trying to hang on to the rug for dear life, my breasts jiggling with each quick, hard thrust.

“You feel better than heaven,” he says through a husky groan. His pumps become quicker, deeper, and messy, like he’s losing control and going over the edge and taking me with him. I’ve never had a man in so deep like this, not just inside me but inside my head. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I shouldn’t have and he’s fucking me like we might lose everything tomorrow.

The same urgency that’s running through him is running through me. I drop onto one elbow, and with my other hand reach for my clit, the pressure building to unbearable heights as he fucks that sweet spot inside me.

“Don’t cheat,” he growls, batting my hand away and grabbing the back of my hair until it’s gathered in his hand. He pushes forward until my cheek is pressed into the rug and he’s holding me down, grunting hard with each thrust.

Jesus. He’s out of control. He’s become someone else, an animal, a beast, as relentless as the waves. I’m at his mercy and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more than for him to take such control and just fuck the living hell out of me.

Hell, heaven, whatever this is, I know it’s something I’ll never come back from. I know I’ll never want to. In my wildest, kinkiest dreams about him, it’s never been this good.

While he yanks back at my hair and then holds me down in place, he slips his other hand under my stomach, his fingers finding my clit.

I’m so wet, slick and ready for him, it doesn’t take long for him to push me to the edge. I feel just as I did when I was surfing, at that terrifying moment when you know you’re going over. But the waves here are completely different. They promise to make me anew.

He is merciless, grunting hard with each thrust, this rough, animalistic noise that gets louder and louder the closer he gets to coming. It’s such a fucking beautiful noise that it causes the heat to build in my core, coaxing the last bit of fire I have left.

I don’t even have time to tell him I’m coming. It just happens, quick and swift, and I’m swept away, tumbling and turning, over and over as the orgasm churns through me. It’s an undertow, it’s a rip, it has me in its clutches and I never want it to let me go. My body quakes and shudders from head to toe as I pulse around him. I am light and heavy and my heart has wings. I never want to feel anything but this, never want anyone else but him.

“Veronica,” he groans out my name and then I feel him as he comes, the pressure in my hair, the slamming of his hips into my ass. The sounds coming out of his mouth are crude and I’d give anything to watch his face as he empties into me. “Yes. God, yes.”

His thrusts slow down, his hand in my hair slowly letting go, releasing the pressure from my head. He’s breathing hard, his hulking body hovering over me. Drops of sweat fall onto my back, making me shudder.

Then, as the orgasm starts to slide away into the background, the reality of what we’d just done hits me, like those sneaker waves that get you when you’re trying to get back on the beach.

Logan Shephard just fucked me on his rug. From behind. My head pressed—no, held—to the ground. He fucked me like I’d never been fucked before and I’m starting to think I need a new word to describe that because “fuck” just isn’t enough.

And you didn’t use a condom, I remind myself. I’m lucky I’m on the pill, though I should be more careful next time.

Next time. What a crazy thought. Part of me can’t assume there will be a next time. The other part of me thinks that’s all there is. Next time. There has to be. Sex can’t be that good and only happen once. It’s an insult to the act of sex itself.

Meanwhile, as my brain starts to come to grips with everything, Logan is still breathing heavily and his hand slowly trails down my head, over my neck and down my spine.

“Veronica,” he whispers, grabbing my waist.

“Yeah,” I say.

He slowly pulls out, cum dripping onto my thighs, and exhales loudly. “God, you’re everything I dreamed you would be.”

I can’t help but smile. “So you’ve been dreaming about me?”

“Every day, Freckles. Every bloody day.” He sighs and runs his hand back up my spine. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” He touches my hair gingerly. “I do love your hair.”

More smiling. I’m kind of glad he can’t see my face right now because I know I have the look of a teenager with the world’s biggest crush. Heart eyes have nothing on me.

“Nah,” I tell him. “Maybe a bit of rug burn, but it’s worth it.” I turn around to look at him, his eyes glazed and sated, cheeks flushed. I’ve never seen him like this before. He looks vulnerable. He’s beautiful.

We stare at each other for a few beats before I try to get to my knees and pull down my dress. He reaches out and stops me, his hand on my wrist.

“Take it off,” he says.

I blink at him, give him a crooked smile. “The dress?”

“Off.”