After Hours (InterMix)(64)
I peeled away my shirt and got my bra off as he leaned over to grab a condom from the side table and sheathed himself. Then all at once, my impatient lover froze, cock in hand. His gaze softened, wandering up and down my body.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just lemme look at you a minute.” He seemed caught between two sets of emotions, hesitance playing tug-of-war with his usual greediness. He looked at me like we’d never met before, like he was trying to figure out what this woman was doing on his bed.
The moment passed and his roaming gaze steeled. He braced himself on one arm and guided his crown to my lips.
As he drove inside, everything was different. I wasn’t wet yet, and his cock felt pleasantly intrusive with only the condom’s lube to ease the way. I welcomed the pressure, a contrast to the accessibility I sensed, staring into his eyes.
He was still taking what he wanted, but what he wanted felt more tender than yesterday, more personal. His wrists pressed tight to my ribs, arms locked, thrusts deep and slow. His eyes were steady, but softer. Sadder, or something. Something that passed for vulnerable in Kelly’s impassive emotional repertoire.
His body was as powerful as ever, looking as strong and exciting and cut as it did in my fantasies. He owned me in smooth, explicit strokes. But it was the noises he made that had me aching. The tight grunt each time his hips met mine. There was helplessness in that plaintive sound. Something that said, Let me in, a plea trying to pass for an order. I hugged my legs to his waist and welcomed him to take what he needed.
He didn’t say or do anything to address my pleasure, and for some reason, it was incredibly hot. This strong, greedy man needed to come—needed me. A peevish voice said I should feel overlooked, but all I felt was wanted.
And I knew implicitly that I could touch myself if I felt like it, no permission needed, come when I was ready. But excited as I was, I simply wanted to watch him. I might never again have a chance to see him this way.
Powerful and rough . . . and needy. Always a contradiction.
He found the rhythm he craved, taking me with swift, rough thrusts and grunting in time. Still, he didn’t offer to get me off. He must’ve felt as I did that this was somehow about him. Maybe it was just another facet to his role for these two days, a more subtle flavor of selfish. No games or threats, just him using my body to take what he wanted, when and how he wanted it.
I stroked his soft, short hair. I rubbed the nape of his neck, his shoulders and back and arms, admiring the man who’d given me the best sex of my life. The most intense and unsustainable sex I’d likely ever have. I relished the temporariness of it. It made every stroke and thrust and kiss more forbidden and fleeting, knowing all of this would be nothing more than memories in a few hours’ time. I might never feel this again, but I could go forth knowing that once upon a time, I’d had mind-blowing, wild-animal sex with a huge, cut, bruised-up beast of a man. I could move on, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t missing out on anything.
Kelly moaned. “Fuck. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”
I held his shoulders. “Good.”
“Oh. Fuck.” The climax seemed to have crept up on him, as though he weren’t ready for the sex to be done, but helpless to stop it. His body slammed into mine for a dozen frantic strokes, then every muscle locked, cock pushed as deep as it could go. Four times he clenched, each punctuated with a groan, then I felt his weight on me as his body softened.
He shoved his arms under my back, pressing his face against my throat. He took a long, ragged inhalation and let it out in a sigh. I grazed my fingertips up and down his back, secretly savoring the moment.
I assumed the sex and the early hour would leave him soft, in both cock and demeanor, but as the haze lifted, I saw mean Kelly shining in his eyes. He left the bed and stripped the condom, never dropping my gaze. I gasped as he grabbed my ankles and pulled me across the bed, until my butt was at the mattress’s edge. He dropped to his knees between my legs, pushing them wider. I propped myself up on straight arms.
Everything felt intensely real, in that instant. The morning light slipping through the blinds was warm, draping his shoulders in golden stripes, illuminating the dust motes drifting in the air.
He slid his fingers over my mound and fisted the hair there, rough enough to pull a little yelp from my lungs. He held me as he might steady my head while his cock owned my mouth, the gesture echoing all that aggression while promising precisely the opposite act. With his other thumb and finger he spread my lips, and he breathed me in.