Baddest Bad Boys(21)

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

She let out a crack of breathless laughter, and dug her nails into his chest. “Oh, sure. Ask me now, why don’t you, when you’re so deep inside me, you’re practically coming out my mouth.”

He swiveled his hips, making her gasp and rock against him.

“You know how it is. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Don’t stop.” She wiggled madly against him. “I like it.”

“Answer my question.” He froze into place, his eyes steely.

She let out a sharp sigh. “I didn’t answer it because it’s a dumb question. Sure, it hurts. I don’t care. So stop bothering me.”

“I could stop,” he said. “If you’re too—”

“Shut. Up.” She shook him, wiggling her hips to get him going.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

“Not on my account,” she snapped, but the rest of her lecture was lost when he cupped the back of her head and started kissing again.

It was different this time. He was gentler, much gentler. Last night had a desperate, urgent, life-or-death quality. This morning, the movement of his body was playful, voluptuous. A slow thrust and glide, no hurry. A seeking, swirling, skillful pulse that teased and beckoned, that drove her half mad with rising desire with each slick stroke.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clutched his shoulders and raised herself to meet each lunge. The shimmering tension was rising, about to crest, but something tugged at her mind, distracting her.

“Um, Jon? We forgot the condom,” she asked shakily.

He looked pleased with himself. “Nope. We didn’t. It’s on.”

“Huh?” she was baffled. “But how did you—when did you—”

“I put it on a while ago,” he confessed. “I’ve been waiting. Forever.”

She laughed at him, but the laughter choked off into wails as he churned her up into a wonderful, shining froth of delight. She lost herself in pulsing surges of heat, light, beyond thought.

When she forced her wet eyes to open, he was motionless, poised over her, with a look of wonder in his eyes. “You’re amazing,” he said.

“Me?” She giggled helplessly. “I’m the one who’s amazing? Hah!”

“I have never felt anything like that,” he went on.

She licked her dry lips, cleared her throat. “Like, er, what?”

“Like the way you come. Your * just grabs my dick and milks it, hard, like a wet fist, with the fireworks going off, and the loud rock music blasting, and strobe lights flashing. Un-f*cking-believable.”

She blinked at him, at a loss for words. “Gee.” Her voice came out like a dry croak. “That’s, ah, cool. I’m, um, glad you like it. But I think you should take a bit more credit for the phenomenon yourself.”

She wiggled. He was huge, and stone hard inside her. “Didn’t you come?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to feel yours,” he said simply. “From beginning to end. No distractions.”

“But don’t you want to?” she asked, anxiously.

He frowned. “If I let myself come, I’d lose it and be too rough again, like last night. You’re sore. It won’t kill me not to come inside you. You can get me off some other way if you want.”

“No way.” She trapped him inside her, twining her thighs around his. “You’re not slinking away without giving me mine.”

He made a frustrated sound. “I’m not slinking—”

“No way. It’s only fair. I show you mine. You show me yours. I want to see fireworks, and hear music and see strobe lights, too.”

He stared down at her, eyes narrowed, and lifted his muscular torso up off her body, his penis still inside her. He tossed the sleeping bag back as he rose, so that the chilly air displaced the warmth. Goosebumps popped up, though she was a molten glow around his thick staff. He scooped her legs up, draping her knees over his elbows, stretching her so wide, it made her gasp.

“Fine. You asked for it,” he said. “Brace yourself then.”

She’d loved the tenderness, but she loved the wild ride too, his body hunched, muscular abdomen clutching and releasing. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and his eyes burned out of his stark face. His hips slammed against hers. He grunted with each jarring stroke.

The medallion around his neck flashed and swung. Robin slid her fingers into the mat of damp black hair on his hard chest, and gave herself up to it, letting him jolt her closer and closer to another peak.

She tried to hold back, to wait so that she could watch him as he’d done to her, but his skill was too compelling. He dragged her implacably along with him, and pulled her over the brink into chaos.

They lay together after, a damp snarl of limbs. Robin stroked his shoulders, felt the jolting thud of his heart. The sweat cooled. Jon twitched the sleeping bag over them. “You OK?” he asked.

“Stop asking me that,” she said lazily. “It’s getting ridiculous.”

“You make me crazy. I can’t believe I did that to you. Again.”

“Relax, already. I begged you to,” she mumbled.

He reached down, holding the condom in place, and pulled out of her body with a groan. “God, I love how you hug me. Plush and tight.”