Ripped (Real, #5)(21)
“You haven’t been kissed in a while, have you?”
Oh god, it can’t be that obvious. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business. And I’m making it priority business.”
Need slams into me at the possessiveness in his tone. His grip tightens on me, quieting my denial. “You haven’t been f*cked in a while either, have you?”
“No, but I don’t want you,” I grit out.
God, he’s like a sexually charged nuclear weapon about to detonate me.
“Don’t be petulant,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand down my hair. “Do you want me to f*ck you?” he asks. I can taste him on my tongue, and my panties are drenched with arousal.
“This won’t be for the cameras.” His voice is deathly sexy in an I’m-so-ready-to-f*ck-you way, his breath a warm gust of air against my throat as he nuzzles me like he’s mad about me. Like he’s Dracula and I’m Mina, and this little foray into the closet? This will be our undoing. “This is for me—for you and me. I need to f*ck you out of my system. We’ll play whatever game they want, but we’ll have our own game. I don’t want this on film. Our lives are on film, but this can’t be in it. Do you understand me, Pandora?”
Please excuse me, but my brain is in a fog of lust and I can’t think straight. “Wha . . . but how are we going to . . . ?”
“Shh. I’ll find a way.” My muscles start quivering as he reaches between our bodies and I hear the rasp of my zipper.
He eases his hand into my jeans, his eyes glowing. “Have you been thinking about this?”
Fuck, considering that at one point yesterday I wanted to lick the tomatoes off him, YES! But I refuse to say it, refuse for him to know. I swallow back a moan when he slips a finger inside my sopping wet * and rasps, “Yes,” as if answering himself.
He rubs my insides, and it feels so good, I arch for him.
He’s smiling against my temple, because of course he knows—we both know—I’m drenched. And swollen from arousal. And god, it feels so good, but my pride is smarting because I’m so wet. I fight the desire he makes me feel, and I put my hands on his shoulders, battling within myself and gathering the strength I need to push him away. But then I realize . . . he owes me this. He f*cking should pleasure me until I can’t get enough. So I grab the back of his head and start kissing him again, groaning softly when he does the same, his mouth taking control of mine. His skull is round, perfect. His tongue works its magic on me as I feel the knowing strokes of his finger rubbing me inside.
“Part your legs. Lift your shirt so I can suck on those tits.”
“If you want it, lift it yourself,” I huskily reply, still clinging to my pride.
He laughs darkly. His hips move against my body in a punishing roll that makes me gasp, and he groans at the stimulation as though he could get off just dry humping me.
“Do as I say, damn you.”
My head falls back as I pull my shirt up to my neck. He yanks my bra down and hooks it to the underside of my breast, then latches on to one puckered nipple. I am in full-blown arousal and pumping to his finger, moaning as he sucks my nipple. God, what is this? I’d forgotten this. How he consumes me. Delights and moves me.
I’m so aroused I’m in agony when he peels his mouth and his fingers away for a moment. Then he takes my hand and I hear a zipper, and I feel pure, hard, smooth cock in my palm as he shoves my hand into his jeans. “Oh f*ck, you want me bad,” I cry.
“Work me, honey,” he urges softly. I try. Really I do. But he’s pumping into me with that magic finger and his mouth is fastened onto my other nipple, and I am so close. I’m moaning mindlessly when the snickering starts outside. Crashing back to reality, I pull my hand out of his jeans as we hear screeching.
“Shit!” I say.
Mackenna groans. “Fuck them to hell!”
“Get up!” I cry as I leap to my feet, slip my shirt back on, and try not to look like we were just making out in this closet.
Ohmigod.
That was the most incredible seven minutes of my f*cking life!
I stand on wobbly legs and have just finished adjusting my shirt and hair when the doorknob turns. When they fling the door open, the outside light burns my eyes.
“So, Kenna? What the f*ck, man? You teach her who’s boss?”
I wonder if he’s moping on the floor because he didn’t get to come, but I don’t get to worry for long. He brushes past me, fully composed. “Oh, she knows all right,” he says in a husky murmur, his buzz cut hair perfect, his entire demeanor as attractive as every rock god’s should be.
The twins snicker, and I tip my chin up as I walk past them down the hall, aware of the girls who are with them staring at me. When I turn, I see both of those girls embracing Mackenna, whining, “You don’t really like her, do you?”
He grabs their asses and squeezes. “Nah, I just like pissing her off.”
He looks back in my direction, his eyes still so ravenous they’re burning holes through me, and I’m so angry at what I just let him do—put his hands on me, his tongue in me . . . god, I was about to jerk him off in the closet!
My whole body tightens in anger as I storm into the room, slam the door, scan for something to throw, then just grab the pillow and scream.