After Hours (InterMix)(59)

“Yeah, Kelly. Let me see.”

He leaned back, drawing all the shadows away and giving me the perfect view of his body. His gaze had dropped between us to the point of penetration.

“You’re so f*cking wet.” A flurry of hard thrusts caught me off guard, then he slowed again. “So wet. So f*cking tight.”

That one made me squirm, but only for a second. I’d always shied at that term, thinking it was somehow degrading, some virginity-exalting male fixation. But f*ck it, I did feel tight. From his size, and my own pleasure. I was swollen and lush, and yeah, tight. I’d had it all twisted. A tight * wasn’t about replicating innocence. It was about a man feeling desired. And I wouldn’t begrudge Kelly a truth as deep as that one.

He let me touch him however I wanted, and I ran my palms up his stomach and chest, down his sides, and over his hips and ass. I drank it all in, knowing this could very well prove the most extraordinary sexual experience of my life, and might be one of the few and final times I got to be with him. Or let myself be with him.

“You like the way I f*ck,” he growled, the tell me implicit in his eyes.

“I love how you f*ck.”

A cruel smile, and he dropped back down, looming. I squeezed the hard swells of his shoulders then held his hips. His breathing had changed. It was short and high in his chest, speeding alongside his cock. His face looked harsh but the control was bleeding out of him, eyes unfocused. If ever I had a chance to steal a scrap of his power, this was it.

“You gonna come for me, Kelly?”

He answered with a throaty, “Oh,” and I knew I had him.

“Show me.”

“I will. I’ll let you see. Let you see what I’ve imagined, every f*cking time I’ve shot in my hand, thinking about you.”

Just like that, he stole back the reins, left me wordless and hazy, all my blood throbbing around his cock and not a single thought in my skull.

“I’ll show you,” he promised, and trailed off. Pleasure had the better of him. It drove his racing strokes, escaping his lips in heavy grunts.

I could see it—the exact moment we reached his point of no return. Eyes narrowed to slits, lips flushed, face mean, so mean. I grabbed his punishing hips just to feel the muscles working, and locked my gaze on his driving cock.

He didn’t even make me beg.

He went dead-silent, face strained through a dozen fierce, sloppy thrusts. Then all at once he jerked out, stripped the condom with a snap, and pumped himself in a rough fist. His moan was soundless, lips round. With one arm braced beside my shoulder, he pressed his crown to my belly on the first spurt, hot come lashing my skin. Again, again, until his hand slowed. A single bead of sweat slipped down his cheek and chin, hitting my collarbone like a raindrop.

Bleed on me, I thought, holding his sides, feeling his ribs swell and contract. Let me drown in your sweat and blood and come and every other filthy thing that makes you this way.

I took a deep, hitching breath and stroked his sweat-damp hair, suppressing my urge to kiss him madly. Maybe he’d have welcomed it, but I didn’t like the way I felt. I wanted to kiss like this was love, like we’d just f*cked to celebrate his proposing to me. I was smart enough to keep the boundary between attraction and affection delineated, and save those kisses for a man who’d recognize them for what they were.

Music drifted from the living room, rising and falling on a loop, the menu screen of the movie.

When the agility returned to his limbs, Kelly moved to the edge of the mattress and procured a hand towel from the side table drawer. He tidied me with stoic sweeps, sleepiness already dulling his gaze. We settled on our sides, my back hugged tight to Kelly’s front, both of us sweaty and ripe and spent. His palm rested on my ribs, once possessive, now feeling heavy and lazy, even fond.

“So,” he said at length, lips against my neck.

“Yes?”

“You feel exploited or spoiled?”

“A bit of both.”

He made a cocky noise. “Good enough.”

I reached back to pat his hair, my dangerous predator pacified for now. “You were right. There was something in it for me.”

He pressed his half-stiff cock to my butt, but he was wrong. Nice as that was, Kelly had been the treat. Kelly with his callous words and voice and fists, all that mastery dressed up as sadism.

He was the best lover I’d ever had. So far ahead of the competition, I couldn’t even recall their names or faces. When I’d amuse myself on quiet nights with memories of this affair, I’d think of his cock, sure. But more than that, it’d be those bossy hands and leveling eyes. It’d be Kelly, possessing me. Using me. And yeah, spoiling me rotten. I’d slept with the enemy, and f*ck . . . Who knew a chauvinist would make such an incredible lay?