The fingers inside me withdraw.
I clench in an attempt to keep them where they are. “No!”
Lex’s chuckle is heavy. “Maybe you should ask nicely.”
I don’t think twice. Not when I’m right on the edge like this. Not when, for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not responsible for my own goddamn orgasms. Not when I’m having the best sex of my life. “Please, Lex.”
That gets me one finger, which isn’t nearly enough.
“Please what?” His smirk is so infuriating.
I’m totally getting him back for this later. “Please make me come.”
I get a second finger and then a curl.
“Please. Oh God.”
He drops his head, his breath warm against my aching clit. Another finger.
“Fuck, Lex.”
I’m rewarded with the feel of his tongue, followed by teeth and the finger flutter and lastly, mind-bending suction. I come in waves, sensation rolls through me, Lex’s name a scream I can’t control, along with a slew of uncensored profanity. And the orgasm doesn’t stop, it keeps going, stealing my breath, cutting out sound, my vision going white with the intensity.
“My turn.”
I don’t have the time to process that comment, or come down from the insane orgasm high I’m riding. Before I can ask questions, or tell him he’s a god, I find myself being flipped over on my stomach, face mashed into the comforter, not because Lex is doing any mashing, but because my limbs are completely incapable of doing anything constructive since they are currently the consistency of pudding.
“Show me that ass.”
I yelp when that order is accompanied by a swift slap across my left cheek. Lex chuckles, a sound full of cocky arrogance and self-satisfaction. I’d make some kind of snarky retort but I’m still trying to figure out how to use my tongue for things other than random noises. Also, that was an astounding orgasm, so he has a right to be cocky about it.
When I don’t move fast enough, Lex grabs me by the hips and drags me up onto my knees. I make a very weak, sort of pathetic attempt at pushing up on my arms so I’m on all fours, and showing him “that ass,” but my arms are incapable of holding my weight and I drop back to my elbows, resting my forehead on my clasped hands.
“How you feelin’, baby?” He runs his palms over my ass in a wax on, wax off motion again and again.
I try a word, but it comes out garbled.
“What was that?” The press of his hips against me, and the slide of his cock between my ass cheeks, makes me suddenly alert.
I manage to string a bunch of words together, they’re a little slurry, but there’s some snark in there. “I thought we were eating first.”
“I did eat. Now I want to fuck you again.”
My saucy reply gets caught in my throat at the tear of the condom, which is followed by the feel of Lex’s cock sliding low and easing in. I groan and push back until his hips rest against my ass. His fingers trail a line along my spine.
“Ready?”
I nod.
There’s no easy start up. No slow build, no shallow thrusts. Lex grips my hips tight, pulls out, almost all the way, and then slams back in. Over and over, faster and faster, harder and harder. I consider giving my marble a roll, but the thrusting is just too vigorous, and honestly, I’m beyond the point of being able to coordinate the movements. But I can feel the pressure building again, the tightening of muscles, the heat funneling low and building fast.
As if Lex can sense how close I am, he releases one hip, slows down long enough to grab me by the shoulder and haul me up so my back is pressed against his sweaty, hard chest. Instead of resuming the thrust-a-thon, he starts a hard grind.
Running his fingertips down my arm, he takes my hand and brings it up. “Hold on to the back of my neck.”
I do as I’m told, because independent thought has ceased to exist. Also, if he releases me right now, I’ll face-plant back into the comforter. Beyond the other current issues impeding my ability to use full sentences, this position is incredible and it’s pushing me closer to the edge.
Lex anchors me to him using my left boob, and then the other hand, the one on my hip, moves lower and he does the thing I’m too uncoordinated to manage on my own. He circles my clit, slow and hard, grinding to the same rhythm. And I come. Viciously. Like the hardest I think I’ve ever come in my life. I’m a moaning, screaming, boneless mass of useless limbs.
Lex must’ve come too, because I find myself back on the bed, him stretched out on top of me.
“Holy hot damn,” I groan.
“Sounds about right.” His lips are on my shoulder, soft, warm, a stark contrast the way he just fucked me.
We lay there for a good minute, or seven, or an hour—I’m too sated to know or care—before he rolls off me. My hair is in my face, I blow at it, my limbs still refusing to do anything apart from remain attached to my body. Gentle fingers move the hair away until he comes into view. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, all over him really. His hair is a mess, the longer strands sticking up or falling forward, curling on his forehead.
He traces the contour of my face, his gaze following the same path until his eyes come back to mine. His expression is intense.
I clear my throat, not looking away. “Soooo . . . yeah.” My voice is raspy and my mouth is dry. I could use a gallon of water, and maybe a few shots.
He barks out a laugh. “Was that nice?”
Sarcastic bastard. I can’t even muster the energy to pinch his nipple. “Feed me.”
“I’ll call room service.” He rolls off the bed, popping up with far more energy than is reasonable considering the amount of it we’ve just expended. I admire his hot body as he crosses the room, the flex and pull of muscles, the amazingly solid contours of his ass, the narrow waist, the heavily cut back, sinew pulling tight as he runs his hand through his hair, smoothing out some of the wayward strands. I’d hand wash clothes on those abs and use that ass as pillow—after I bit it, of course. I get caught at the two thick lines crisscrossing across the left side of his upper back.
I’ve seen those scars before, when he dressed as a gladiator at the Halloween soirée months ago. I thought they were some elaborate makeup to augment the authenticity of the gladiator costume he was wearing. I didn’t think they were real. They’re jagged and thick, but pale, as if they’ve been there for a long time.