I hear his footfalls come down the hallway. They stop outside of the door. He pushes it open, one brow arching when he peeks around the door. I motion him in with a curved finger, a slight smirk on my lips.
The second he steps in, I grab his face and kiss him. Hard. My palm glides over the front of his jeans, his swelling dick evident. I grab it and bite his lip. And then hands are on my shoulders, slamming me against the wall. Jax covers my mouth with a brutal kiss. His fingers dig into the curve of my waist, and a low growl slips from him. His teeth rake over my bottom lip, and he presses his body against mine, pushing me hard against the wall as he grabs the bottom of my shirt, bunching the material up. His rough hands drift up to my neck, his fingers slowly wrapping around my throat just below my jaw, the kiss growing deeper, rougher with each passing second.
I grab his arms, my fingers grasping his hard biceps for dear life. I want him to fuck me to within an inch of my life. To the brink of death. And this slow teasing is winding me up like a tight coil, the tension nearly unbearable.
One of his hands drifts down my stomach, his fingers skimming the waist of my jeans before he grabs between my thighs, palming me. I can't resist this urge to push against him, ever so slightly grinding against his hand. I should fight this, drag it out, but his warm lips, the taste of his tongue, the way it feels as if he’s everywhere on my body but not nearly enough, not in the way I need him to be—I'm close to losing every bit of fucking control I have. His hands find their way into my hair, and he fists it, yanking my head to the side as he tilts his head ever so slightly, his eyes locked on mine in a stare so intense I fear I may lose a piece of myself I'll never get back if I give in to him. And you know what? He can fucking have it.
"Fuck, Miranda," he breathes before his lips meet the crook of my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin just enough to force a hiss from my mouth.
"Goddammit, fuck me already," I say in a breathy moan, a plea, my fingers grasping for the bottom of his shirt and tearing it over his head.
And with that, clothes are ripped off, hands are all over the place, feeling, touching, gripping. His naked body presses me into the wall, the heat of his skin driving me completely mad. He fists his cock, and I open my legs, giving myself to him. His mouth is on my throat, each uneven, ragged breath rushing over my skin. Each groan right at my ear. He rubs the tip—the warm, hard tip—against me.
"Shit, you're fucking wet," he says right before he grabs my ass, forcing my hips against his. The head barely goes in. He moves away from the wall, dragging me with him, his fingers digging into my ass as he lifts me and sets me on the edge of the sink. "I'm going to fuck you right here."
I grab my knees, opening my thighs as I pull my legs to my chest. He looks at me spread out just for him, for him to do whatever the fuck he desires. That look—that is what every woman wants. The way he's looking at me is completely unhinged, out of control. Like an animal, a beast.
There is no foreplay, no warning, no soft caresses. Jax slams into me so hard I have to grab the sink edge to keep from falling into the bowl. I gasp just like a whore. I moan. I pant. And at moments, I hiss because he is fucking me hard. Using me. Skin slapping against skin. And to be honest, I've never felt more like a woman than I do with him buried so deep inside me it hurts, his hands gripping my hips with such strength I know I'll be bruised.
His hands move up my sides, trailing up my back until he’s cupping the back of my head. He presses his sweaty forehead against mine, his gaze boring into mine as he fucks me. And I’m losing it. I want to scream. And I do.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" My hands slip over the counter, knocking most everything—cologne, toothbrushes, bottles—into the sink. "Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh fuck." I'm about to fall over that edge into an oblivion of moans.
"Oh, no, hun. Not yet you don't." He drags me off the sink and turns me around, bending me over the counter. “I want you to watch me fuck you.” He stares at my reflection with a slight smirk. He grabs my hair, wraps it around his wrist, and yanks my head back as he leans down by my ear. "I wanna watch you come, Miranda."
He thrusts back inside me, and I watch him tear into me. Jaw clenched, head thrown back—until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, until my vision starts to swim. My chin drops to my chest.