After Hours (InterMix)(58)

Not that I couldn’t. I simply didn’t. Somehow, I chose not to. I wanted to feel what lay beyond the pain.

The next smack brought the fire, but no fresh panic. It felt like . . . It felt like every ounce of Kelly’s brutal body, his strength, concentrated to a laser focus. A force I could never replicate. I was too small, too female, too timid—

SMACK.

“Oh f*ck.”

“One more, for talking.”

A final burning slap rang against my ass, then he began to rub. With both hands, a rough massage to start but softening steadily, until it was just the faintest graze of his palms over my fevered skin.

His hands moved to my waist, grabbing my skirt’s stretchy waistband and yanking it over my hips and down my thighs. As he stood I rose to my hands, watching him. His throat and chest were flushed pink, racing breaths given away by the flex of his belly and the swell of his ribs.

“Get up.”

I was barely on my feet when he hooked an arm behind my knees. My skirt slipped from my toes, fluttering to the floor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been carried, but he did so as easily as he might a child, around the corner and down the hall, into his room. He laid me across the bed and flipped the blinds closed. I propped myself up on my elbows, and for half a minute or more he stood at the bedside, studying me with darting eyes.

His covers felt cold under my burning butt and rasped shoulders, but that stare didn’t promise any respite. Neither did his cock, looking as hard as it had felt, claiming my body on the floor. He wrapped it in his fist, and my mouth dropped open.

Since he’d told me what he had, outside the bar, about touching himself, thinking about me . . . I’d gotten myself off fantasizing about it, a half dozen times or more. Now here it was, live and in person. More explicit and real somehow, even with the condom veiling my view, electric with dimension and smell and the intimidation of knowing he wasn’t done with me. That I was staring at a cocked weapon, and I had bull’s-eyes stenciled all over my body.

His pulls were slow. Pensive, as though he were perusing a menu.

“You look good on that bed,” he finally said. “Just like I imagined.” He sounded softer now. Not tender, but my misgiving ebbed as I held his gaze. He approached and my heartbeat sped, but it was excitement pulsing through my veins, not anxiety.

“Open your legs.”

My arousal flashed at the way he said it. Brusque and bossy, sure, but his voice was tight, giving him away. I spread. He wedged his knees beneath my thighs, driving them wider. I gasped at the contact, hard, hot muscle burning against the skin his palm had savaged.

He held my waist as he guided himself back to my entrance, his cock feeling almost cool against my swollen lips. With a long, deep push, he was all the way inside, so smooth we could have been doing this together for years. He braced his hands at my sides, and I counted the throbs of his arousal like a countdown clock, like a metronome setting the rhythm of what was still to come.

“You feel me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How do I feel?”

“Big. And thick. Hard.”

He began to move—deliberate motions designed to corroborate what I’d said. “Biggest you’ve had?”

I nodded.

“Tell me.”

“You’re the biggest I’ve had.”

“So big it’s like you never got f*cked before now.”

His tone said it wasn’t a question, so I held my tongue and got lost in the motions of his body. Everything male and strong, owning me. Scary and comforting, needy and protective, all at once. Unsure if I was allowed, I reached up slowly, and he let me stroke his arms. His skin was more tan than mine, and stained with bruises. My hands looked so small and pale, like they belonged to a delicate, make-believe creature. These are the arms that keep me safe, at work, I thought. And turn me into a victim once I’ve stepped across Kelly’s threshold.

His thrusts grew deeper, a bit faster. The flex of his hips and abdominal muscles were hypnotizing, like everything I’d ever wished pornography could be. So hot I’d give up a week’s wages for a copy of this tape. Since I couldn’t, I’d just have to record the moment.

“You like to watch,” he muttered, voice heavy and thick. “You wanna watch when I come?”

The second he asked, I knew my answer. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, you wanna see. Wanna see what you do to me.”

I nearly smirked, so surprised—what I did to him. This man no one got the better of, ever. Who’d seduced me with a guerilla campaign and lured me to this very encounter against every scrap of my better judgment. What I’d done to him. Even flat on my back, the notion made me feel seven feet tall.