Vice(42)

How the f*ck did this happen? How did we end up here, when I’ve been on my best f*cking behavior? It makes zero sense. Her mouth on mine makes sense, though. The feel of her tits crushed up against my chest. The way she arches, grinding her hips against mine, as I stack my hands on the small of her back. All of these things make perfect sense to me.

Natalia pulls back, breaking off the kiss. Her lips are parted, pouting and swollen from the fever of our kiss, and her eyes are burning with need. “Fuck me, Cade. Please. Don’t overanalyze. Don’t think about what will happen when the rain stops. Just give me what I need.”

I can’t say no to this woman. I don’t want to say no to her. In the back of my mind, I’m aware that I’m about to cartwheel head f*cking first down a vertical slope, and I’m liable to break every bone in my body on the way down. There’s nothing to be done, though. No ripcord. No escape hatch. No eject button. There’s only Natalia, and the way she’s staring into my eyes, as though she can’t possibly look away.

“I’ll give you what you need. On one condition.”

Her fingernails dig into the back of my neck, pressing in just hard enough to send a frisson of pain ricocheting around my body. “Anything,” she whispers.

“You don’t let him touch you again. You hear me? You never let him touch you again? You f*cking call for me, and I’ll be there. I’ll be there no matter what.”

Natalia blinks. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. “Okay. I promise.”

I growl, grabbing hold of the bottom of her tank top. It peels from her body with ease and makes a wet slapping noise as I throw it over my shoulder. Natalia gasps as I bury my face into her cleavage, licking and biting at the swell of her tits. They’re glorious, seriously f*cking glorious, and I haven’t even taken her bra off yet. She writhes against me as I slide my hand down, rubbing my fingers between her legs; her head kicks back, and she gasps, a look of surprise on her face.

“Oh god, Cade…”

The bra has got to f*cking go. I rip the straps down over her shoulders, and then I’m pulling the cups of the plain black material down too, revealing the beautiful tanned skin of her breasts. Her freckles really are everywhere. I manage to rein myself in for a second, wanting to drink her in. She’s perfect. In the past I’ve been with women of all shapes and sizes, each beautiful and unique in their own way, but no one ever has or ever will compare to Natalia Villalobos without her shirt on. Her hair is still soaking, sticking to her skin, which is damp and hot. I gather her hair in my hands, taking hold of it in one hand, and then I pull gently, so she has to tip her head back. She has to curve her back in order to oblige me, which means her chest rises, her tits level with my mouth.

“Holy f*ck,” I hiss. Her nipples are perfect, a delicate pink color that makes her seem fragile, though I already know that isn’t the case. Carefully, I use the tip of my tongue to flick and tease the bud of her right nipple, and I have to bite my f*cking lip when she begins to shiver and shake on top of me. My cock is straining against my soaking wet jeans, demanding to be let free, but I’m not done yet. I want to play with her for a while first.

I release her long enough to fully remove her bra, and then my hands are all over her, palming and squeezing her tits, gripping her tightly at the waist, squeezing her ass through her jeans. She can feel how hard I am as I thrust up against her *. She must be able to. Every time I do it, her breath catches in her throat and she makes a sound of frustration mingled with intense pleasure.

“I’m going to take care of you,” I promise, growling into the skin just below her collarbone. “I’m going to make you come so hard all over my cock, Natalia. Are you ready? Are you ready for me to f*ck you ’til you scream?”

She pants, grinding herself against me, and I know without a doubt that she is more than ready. I could strip her out of her pants right now and f*ck her hard enough to bring this tree house down, and she wouldn’t complain. I can literally smell how turned on she is, and it’s enough to drive me insane. They say men and women are susceptible to each other’s pheromones, and right now this is science at its goddamn best. I can’t get enough of her. My hands can’t stop roaming crazily all over her body. She cries out as I unfasten her jeans and slide my hand past the wet fabric, only to find even more wet fabric underneath. This isn’t the same kind of wet, though. Not rainwater wet. More like, I-want-you-inside-me-right-f*cking-now-look-how-f*cking-ready-I-am kind of wet. It’s such a turn on.

In one swift movement, I pop up onto my knees, take hold of her, wrapping one arm around her body, and then I’m laying her out carefully on her back. I need to get her pants off, and I can’t do that if she’s straddling me.

“Tell me to take your pants off,” I growl.

“Take them—”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence. I cut her off as I rip and tear at her clothes. I yank her shoes off one at a time, and then her jeans are gone, thrown into the corner of the tree house. Her plain black cotton panties are soaked through with her need. I drop down, pushing her legs apart, and then I’m sucking on the material, greedily licking at it, my head spinning with the taste and the smell of her. She’s incredible. She bucks and hisses as I rub my thumb over her clit, and I have to touch myself. I f*cking have to. I pop open the button on my pants, pulling my jeans down over my hips so my hard-on can spring free.