A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(39)

I needed to taste every inch of her, but I’d content myself with this touch, for now.

She shuddered in my arms, her hand coming up and clasping onto the back of my head as my teeth grazed over her nipple. My tongue moved around her. I sucked her in, caressing her, but I needed to be inside of her.

Now.

Yesterday.

A year ago.

Her breathing had picked up, she was only holding on to me, and I picked up the pace, feeling the start of her climax coming. It was a little rest, where her body paused for a split second, and she was moaning softly in my ear now. I lifted my head, finding her throat, and then lifting again and finding her mouth. My tongue moved in, claiming her as she went over the edge. Her entire body jerked against me, lifting up off the counter, and she screamed into my mouth.

I swallowed it, catching it and tasting that too.

Feeling her body calming, just enough, I moved back but reached for my wallet.

I held her gaze when I pulled out a condom. She was watching what I was doing, a dark lust coming over her eyes, and she bit her lip. Then she reached for the condom and tore open the wrapper.

I shoved my pants down, my boxer briefs with them, and she was reaching for me.

Goddamn.

I hissed at the touch of her hands circling my dick, and my head fell to her shoulder.

She was working me over, running her hand up and down, her thumb moving over my tip, but I groaned into her ear, “Enough. Put it on.”

A slight chuckle rasped from her throat, but she smoothed the condom over me, using both her hands to smooth it down, and that was all the permission I needed from her. I grabbed her ass, hoisting her up and angling her down for the perfect access. I wasn’t gentle, but she groaned, her eyes closing at how I was handling her, and I moved her legs aside, pushing them open wider, and then I was there.

I sank in, both of us molded to each other at the contact.

I’d been wrong before. This was heaven.

First it was her mouth. Then how she felt on my fingers, but this was the ultimate form of paradise.

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

Her head snapped back, her eyes finding mine, and she growled, “Fuck me, you asshole.”

I moved back and then thrust into her, glaring right back at her because I saw now that this was just as much needed on her end, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Thrust after thrust, I pounded into her. I didn’t look away, and neither did she.

She truly hated me, but there was the same starving look underneath, the one I felt for her too. Haunted. I’d used the word before because it was true. This goddamn fucking obsession was on both accounts, but I was here and I touched her, and she fell apart for me.

I’d do it every time I could. I made the vow to myself, here and now.

Moving forward, every time I could have her, I would.

She arched her back, her clothes had been torn off, and she was naked for my viewing pleasure. Paint covering her, covering me. I drowned in this view, burning into my brain, knowing I’d be envisioning her for the rest of my life.

She reared up, her feet finding the counter beneath her, and I adjusted, stepping back to keep us in contact, but she used the counter to push back against me. She was fucking me as greedily as I was thrusting inside of her.

I was tempted to halt, enjoy her riding me in this new way, but no. The need to dominate was real inside of me, at least with her, and I fell into her body, holding her up with a hand under her back, pushing inside of her over and over again.

Her whole body came apart when she crested, and I waited, holding off until she rode out the waves. Once she was down, I picked her back up, moved, and pushed her against a wall. Her back was to it, her legs wrapped tight around my back, and she was hugging me around my neck. Her front was fully against mine, and I could feel her breasts crushed against my chest. It was the best position. I loved how this one felt, and I groaned, nipping her throat as I pistoned into her, my hands holding both of her ass cheeks until I wanted to get my handprints tatted there.

My own climax ripped through me, and I groaned, feeling my release going through my body too.

It was then that I realized how truly fucked I was, because I would never get this with another woman. No one could make me taste heaven three different times.

I growled, knowing she would hate me after this, and feeling so damned frustrated at the same time because I understood. I got it. I just needed her more.

She let me hold her for another minute before her hands came up to my chest and she shoved me off of her. She dropped down, glaring at me, totally naked. I glanced around, not remembering pulling her leggings off, but she didn’t care.

“What the fuck, Tristian?”

“Trace,” I snapped back.

“What?”

I leaned over her. “I just rode you hard. Goddamn use the name I don’t hate. To you, my name is Trace.”

She backed off, just a little, both physically and emotionally. I saw her take a step back and felt the distance coming back between us. In another minute, I’d feel as if I’d never left my vehicle. She was putting the walls between us, and fast.

“What are you doing here, Trace?” Wariness flashed in her eyes before she began grabbing her clothes.

I righted my own, pulling my shirt back down and drawing up my boxer briefs and pants. My coat . . . I looked around for it, finding it tossed on the floor some distance away. Going, plucking it up, I held it and watched as she found her bra and began clipping it back on. She’d already grabbed her leggings and had them back on.