After Hours (InterMix)(56)
“Yes.”
“Feel how f*cking hard you make me?”
I nodded, throat too tight to speak. He eased out then pushed deeper, deeper. His body felt strong and big behind me, a force I’d be hopeless to resist. I was a little bird in his huge paws, a goner. Devour me.
“You’re so warm,” he said, cock sliding out, excruciatingly slowly. He made me feel every inch, the sensation so intense I forgot to breathe. A head rush made me hazy, and I forced myself to inhale, exhale, to recall any needs my body had aside from submitting to Kelly’s pleasure.
“And so bad for making me wait.” A slap landed on my thigh, not quite a spank but unmistakably a punishment. I jolted from my trance. Another slow pump, another slap. It stung, hot on the heels of the first. I braced myself for a third, but he rubbed the spot instead, then clamped his hands tight to my waist, hips picking up speed.
“Yeah.” He sucked in a seething breath, let it out with a shudder. I craned my neck to see his face.
My stoic, composed guardian-orderly was gone. His mean eyes were at half-mast, cheeks and lips flushed, mouth slack. It heated me in a way the physical sensations couldn’t, tightening my body around his. Dangerous reactions, when I knew full well I wasn’t allowed to come.
“You like to watch?” Not waiting for an answer, he upped the showmanship—his thrusts slowed and deepened, the roll of his hips exaggerated, the clenched muscles of his chest startling. The rhythmic flex of his abdomen insane. A thousand bucks—I’d have happily paid it for a view of his ass.
“I’ll give you a real good look.” And all at once he pulled out, slapped my hip, and said, “Turn over.”
I flipped gracelessly onto my back, Kelly knocking my knees wide, grabbing my waist and jerking me hard so my * was pressed to the underside of his erection. Carpet burn stung my shoulder blades, but I couldn’t care. Not when he was holding his cock, angling it, sinking back inside me, deep.
I moaned.
“Shhh. Keep that pretty mouth shut and watch.” He clasped the meat of my upper thighs, holding me in place as he began to thrust. A deep, shuddering noise rumbled from him and he paused to adjust his angle, eyes shut, luxuriating. “Fuck, you feel good, girl.”
Don’t concentrate on the sensations. If you do, you’ll come. Then there’ll be trouble. Real trouble, no cheesy call-me-Daddy play spanking, not from Kelly f*cking Robak.
I let the sight mesmerize me, drawing a needed veil between my body and brain. His pace was slow and steady, thrusts assertive, their impact jolting through me.
How was this real? How was I having sex with this man? The dark hair between his legs kissed my lighter curls each time he pushed deep, chased by a view of his thick shaft, shining from me. More hair trickled from his chest down the gulley between his abdominal muscles, a faint trail. I imagined stroking it while he slept, finding out if it was as soft as it looked, as soft as on his forearms. My gaze darted to his face, and the stubble peppering his jaw—rough as sandpaper, my chin could attest. I wanted to crawl over his sleeping body and study him from close-up; record every line beside his eyes, every pore, every lash and freckle, the tiniest veins in his lids. The two little glistening pink notches at the inside corners of his eyes, too vulnerable a scrap of flesh for a man like this to even possess, and yet he did. And maybe he’d even shed tears from there, in some previous life. I studied every miniscule scrap of proof that he was human and committed it to memory.
What was before me now, this couldn’t be real. Not the way his hips and stomach flexed and clenched, not that tendon standing taut along his neck. Not that look on his face, a mix of stern and desperate that made me feel at once scared and invincible. This wasn’t any Kelly I knew, not even one I’d met in my fantasies.
“You like watching me f*ck?” His voice, though—that was unmistakable. This was real. “Yeah? Tell me.”
“Yes.”
He smacked my hip. “Tell me.”
“I like watching you f*ck.”
“Good. Eyes on my cock.”
I dropped my gaze where he wanted it. Where I didn’t want it, frankly. Because already, my resolve was destroyed, every slick push of his flesh honing my arousal sharper, hotter, meaner. I wasn’t allowed to come yet, but if I kept watching, I would. I didn’t need anything more—not a thumb on my clit, not one more filthy syllable in that deep, dark voice. Just this view, and I’d be done for.
His lips were parted, lids heavy. This moment might not be about him and me, about two bodies unified in pleasure or anything profound, but goddamn he looked good. Looked exactly as he felt—strong and big and one hundred percent in control. And I felt exactly as he surely saw me, a hungry vessel, eager to please, at the mercy of his cock.