I’d spent the last four evenings banging Nick Sebring, and until last night, getting dressed when it was smart and getting the hell out.
But that morning, in the light of day, both of us naked, Nick talking quietly on the phone to order breakfast that included champagne, seeing his grin, our banter of the night before I knew I shouldn’t engage in but couldn’t help myself, falling asleep under him, something else I knew I shouldn’t allow but I didn’t stop—our fucking went manic.
For my part, I needed that time to turn things back. To reduce him to a tool, a length of warm, hard flesh, a stiff cock, all there simply to get me off.
This was what I always tried to achieve with Nick. Effort that was wasted because I spent every moment between being with him until being with him again thinking about being with him.
I suspected his game was much different. I didn’t know his game but I knew there was one. I was not just a fuck. But I was also not the woman he intended to take to dinner with his brother and his family either. If I was, we wouldn’t be meeting at a hotel. If I was, he’d ask me out to another type of dinner, a getting-to-know-you one.
So that morning, in the light of day, I had to win. I had to reduce him to a length of warm, hard flesh, a stiff cock and nothing else in a way I could keep him in that place until this was over.
If I didn’t, over coffee, champagne and a fruit plate, all would be lost because I would get lost in the desperate desire to swim forever in Nick Sebring’s eyes.
And as we engaged in our intimate war, Nick played safe like he always played safe.
Bigger and stronger than me, he could overpower me easily and make this a scene I would not enjoy.
He never did that unless it was safe for him (which meant safe for me) to win his point.
As for me, I always took advantage of this handicap.
Like I did then after we both tired of the scrimmage. Ready for more, I got him to his back and climbed on top.
I tried to ignore the beauty of his collarbone carved in a wide rise on either side of the apex of his throat. The smooth, sculpted bulges of his pectorals. The rippled swells of muscle over ribs. The flat but indented plain of his stomach and downward pointing angularity of his hip muscles that led to the spread of dark hair that fed to then bedded the root of his perfectly formed cock.
I just guided that beautiful cock to me and watched between us as I took him. Made him fill me. Plunging down and rearing up, frantic and reckless in my need to ignore all that was him lying beneath me and drive myself straight to orgasm like he was any man with any cock I could use to get me off.
And it was getting me off.
I was panting with the burning need to reach the end as well as the effort I was expending to take me there when I saw his ab muscles contract, veins popping out along the hard flesh from black pubic hair to his navel.
God.
Just seeing that…
Almost there.
But he was curling up.
My eyes cut to him and I lifted a hand to his shoulder, forcefully shoving him back down.
And I rode.
One of his hands curled around my hip.
I knocked it away.
And I rode.
A blue flash fired in his eyes and he moved again to press up, lifting several inches off the bed.
I curled my hand around his throat and shoved, taking him back down.
I kept my hand there, held tight, eyes locked to his…
And I rode.
But it had happened. I saw it. I felt it. It was everywhere. It filled the room. It marked his frame. His expression. There was so much of it, I felt it sink into my skin.
I’d taken it too far.
This was proven when, with a feral growl that I could swear originated in his shaft and tore out of his throat at the same time it ripped from my * straight through me, his eyes dark and riled, he wrapped an arm tight around my waist. He flipped me to my back. I then found my wrists captured and pressed deep into the bed, his face an inch from mine, his cock pounding brutally between my legs.
And it…
Was…
Astounding.
“Knees high,” he grunted.
Without a thought outside what that would give to me—or what more it’d give to me—I lifted my knees high.
Oh yes.
It gave me more.
“Legs wide,” he bit out.
I acquiesced but not enough.
His thrusts turned savage.
My breaths started to hitch.
“Legs…wide,” he growled.
I spread as wide as I could.
“You submit.”
It was a question and an order.
“Yes,” I whispered, unable to say more, speak louder.
It was coming.
“You submit,” he repeated.
My legs tensed. My neck muscles strained. My eyes closed.
His fingers tightened around my wrists.
“Olivia, do you submit?”
I forced my eyes open half a centimeter.
But my lips moved on their own.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I submit.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, pounding deep, his lips now brushing mine.
It felt good. I kept taking it. I kept loving it.