“I want you to play with me.”
He growls as he tackles me, his lips crashing against mine. He moves so fast it’s unreal, his speed almost frightening. He backs me against the wall, pins me to it with his massive body, his hand still in my shorts. His long fingers slide along the length of me, opening me. Testing me. I whimper in the back of my throat, into his mouth. It urges him on. It sends his tongue into my mouth, his finger inside me, and I’m squirming against the wall to get away from the overwhelming feeling that runs through me like fire.
He doesn’t let me escape.
“We’re gonna go slow this time, Sloane,” he whispers to me between kisses. “You’re going to call all the plays, have all of the control. You’re going to show me how to love you, but remember this; you get no time outs.”
He moves his thumb over my clit, only once. I gasp, burying my face in his chest.
“Do you want me to do that again?” he asks, his voice rumbling deep against my forehead.
I nod my head, my hands clinging to his shoulders.
“You gotta tell me, baby,” he reminds me patiently. “Tell me what to do.”
“Again,” I breathe. “Do it again.”
He does as he’s told. His thumb darts over the most sensitive part of me again and again, falling in rhythm with his finger. I ball his shirt in my fists, trying to hold onto him, gasping for breath as my body bucks and jolts with every touch.
“Faster,” I demand, my voice high and nearly unrecognizable, begging for more. More of him. More of this. More of everything.
His breathing is ragged, the hard contours of his chest rising and falling heavily under my head still pressed against him. “Talk to me,” he urges roughly.
“More,” I plead.
He adds a second finger.
I pull on his shirt as I lift my leg, unconsciously trying to climb him. He wraps his free hand around the back of my knee to hitch it higher. To open me wider.
“Faster.”
Trey moves faster, his breathing matching pace. I squirm against him, desperate to get away and closer at the same time. I’m strung tight, pulled in every direction and I cling to him to keep me upright. To keep this feeling that’s spiraling inside of me, coiling in my stomach and igniting in my veins.
I whimper, weeping, my fingers aching where they’re knotted in his shirt. My legs trembling. Finally I break apart with a scream that’s muffled in his chest as he wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. He’s all that’s keeping me together, keeping me from shattering into a million shining pieces on the floor.
I release my fingers slowly, smoothing them over his chest as I lift my head to look up at him. He stares down at me with dark eyes that are both demanding and patient, his chest still heaving. This is his control. His natural born ability to be in the thick of the chaos, pulse pounding, body screaming, and still he’s able to hold strong. To keep his cool until the call is given. Until his power is unleashed.
“Take me to the bedroom,” I tell him, my voice hoarse but commanding, “and love me the way you want to.”
He sweeps me into his arms without a word, lifting me off the ground. He carries me to my bedroom where he sets me on my feet, strips us both down to nothing, and lays me out underneath him. The cold light of the moon is on his skin as he hovers over me, but still he’s radiant. Still he’s warm and golden, glowing, even in his ebony eyes that take me in. That drown me in their depths as he lowers himself over me.
It’s different this time, the way he consumes me. He’s not rushed tonight, not the way he was in the office. He’s slow and torturous. He leaves me breathless and strained, turned out from the inside until everything in me is there for him to see. Every need, every itch, every hidden thought. Too many of them are about him, and he knows it.
He kisses me as he drives inside me, stretching me. Groaning deep in his chest as he pushes me to my limits, giving me what I want. He gives me love, slow and steady. I memorize every agonizing moment. Every thrust, every brush of his skin. Every tender kiss and painful pinch, because I have no idea if it will be the last. And that’s what I truly want; I want this to last.
In the morning he’ll be gone. This will be gone, this moment and its meaning will go with it. With him. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe we’re nothing but a handful of sweat soaked minutes that run out the clock to the last second, squeezing every play we can manage into the time we’re allowed, but when it runs out, that’s it. Game over. It’s a painful thought, one that pinches in my chest like a gunshot wound even as my body blows apart on a wave pleasure that takes him with me. That washes us away together.
Later that night when the time comes, when I know he’s going because the dawn is coming, I feel a desperate ache in my bones that I can’t ignore. I can’t escape.