Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

I need him inside me. I’m aching, dying for it.

He knows this. He rips his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the ground then starting to undo his jeans, pulling a condom out of his pocket.

I try not to stare but I’m staring, watching with wide eyes and shaky breaths as his jeans fall to his ankles and he’s wearing just his boxer briefs.

Jesus.

His body is un-fucking-real.

His skin glows, tanned from top to bottom, like he’s dipped in gold, his every muscle from his thick and toned thighs, to his rippling six-pack abs and the sharp cut of his hip muscles, stands out. He looks carved by a famous artist, every single inch of his body molded to perfection.

And while my eyes roam over his wide, smooth chest, the rounded strength of his shoulders and the bulk of his biceps, they can’t help but focus on his package. I couldn’t tear them away even if I tried.

His boxer briefs are small, on the tight side, and red. The thin cotton material shows every single vein and the hard line of his cock as it bulges out of them, ready to burst the flimsy seams.

If I thought his fingers were too much, I’m going to have to re-evaluate things because Vicente looks like he’s smuggled a python into his underwear for safekeeping.

“I guess it’s only fair,” he says, his voice rough and low. I manage to look up at him, at the smug expression on his face. “I got to memorize your body with my eyes. You should be able to do the same.”

He slowly shifts his briefs down over his hips until his cock springs loose, dark and formidable in his palm. He strokes it from length to tip, staring at me with such heat that I feel I might burst into flames on the spot. The condom is rolled on expertly, shiny and stretched.

Then he’s at me again, like a viper. He bites at my neck until I’m moaning his name and then he’s picking me up off the chair, as if my legs aren’t heavy with muscle, as if I weigh nothing at all.

I’m spun around, picked up, and my back is now against the glass window.

I gasp in fright, the cold pane of glass pressing into my back, while my legs wrap around his waist and my nails dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my neck.

But I can’t breathe. The fear is unreal. I might go through the window at any moment. My lungs are tensing, waiting.

“Breathe,” he tells me, pulling back to kiss me softly, tugging at my lower lip with his teeth. “I said I’ve got you. The glass will hold.”

And if it doesn’t? We’re twenty floors up, more so because of the angle of the hill we’re on. I’m starting to shake. I can just imagine the fall.

Down.

Down.

Down.

I gasp, trying to get air.

“Violet,” he says softly but sternly as he reaches down, priming his cock against me. “Keep your eyes on me. Watch me. Just me.”

And yet that’s somehow more terrifying.

The moment he pushes into me though, it doesn’t matter.

I cry out sharply, my eyes pinching shut as he enters. Everything inside me tightens, a closing fist. I’m pressed so hard against the glass, I’m afraid it will shatter, that I’ll shatter.

Vicente groans, the sound making me even more wet than I already am, his lips brushing against mine. “That’s it, so perfect, so sweet. Just breathe.”

I try. I gulp for air and dig my heels into him, holding on tight as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper inside. My hands grab the back of his neck, feeling the strength in his straining muscles. He kisses the length of my throat and moans into me as his hands pull my breasts out of my bra cups and his cock thrusts in.

“You’re so sweet,” he whispers hoarsely. “So good. So fucking good.” He pulls out slightly and drives back inside, pushing me harder against the glass until I start to melt. My dancing heart leaves the fear behind. The pleasure starts to take over, a wash of warmth all over my body, making my skin feel tight and hot.

“You know how you feel to me?” he whispers.

I shake my head.

He grabs my chin with his fingers, holding my face in place. “Look at me,” he commands.

I open my eyes to see his tiger eyes boring into mine. I feel like prey. I feel like a tiger myself. I feel everything as he comes at me again, arching his hips up, his cock so thick and rigid, filling me to the brim. I can feel his ass flex against my legs as he pounds deeper and deeper with intense, animalistic thrusts.

“You’re everything I’ve ever needed,” he says through a lustful groan. He bites his lip, the corded muscles of his neck straining. “I was famished, starved for you. For this.”

Good god, this is too much. Being fucked against a window by this man, this man who seems so in control and yet absolutely undone by me.

“I want you starved for me,” he says, voice raspy and broken. His hand slips away from my face, down to my clit, and he presses his thumb there, rubbing with each thrust. “I want you to come for me,” he murmurs, kissing me quickly—hot, wet, and sweet, his tongue teasing the seam of my mouth. “I want you to come so hard, you’ll swear you’re falling. Again and again.” He groans, his eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck.”

Something changes in his pace, like a switch being flipped. He quickens, his hips like pistons, firing again and again, my whole body slamming against the glass until I’m calling his name without even knowing it.

In this moment, I fear nothing. Not my bare ass pressed against the window, not the glass breaking, not the fall. I don’t fear the unknown. I don’t fear anything because all I can do is chase my relief, down and down and down the spiral, desperate for it.

He is starved for me. I am starved for him.

And then it hits, generating from my core, spreading outward like a supernova, gaining speed in waves and waves and waves of stardust until it lets go, thundering in aftershocks. I’m babbling, holding him tight and letting go all at once. I stare into his eyes, I look away. I feel everything and feel nothing. I ride it out, muscles jerking, body shuddering in sharp waves.