After Hours (InterMix)(65)

“You ever been f*cked by a man’s mouth?”

The way he said it, I knew he wasn’t talking about any kind of oral I’d experienced. I’d been teased and spoiled and serviced by guys’ mouths, but no, I hadn’t been f*cked.

“No.”

“Good.”

His tongue delved deep, firm and wet and filthy. My legs bucked. His stubble rasped my most tender flesh as his nose brushed my clit. Another lap, and another, savoring before he penetrated again. His thumb slid up and down my outer lips, doubling the sensations. I felt wet and vital, as ripe and slippery as a mango and decadent as a steak, and Kelly feasted. He clutched my curls tight and I wished I could return the gesture, if his hair were longer. Instead I drew my nails along his scalp, and he replied with a soft scrape of his teeth over my clit. I moaned, as shocked as I was aroused.

His fingers abandoned their teasing. He made a spearhead of them and eased it inside me, freeing his mouth. I could feel his wedding band each time it glanced my lips.

“Think about my cock,” he ordered.

I shut my eyes. I conjured every thick, pulsing inch he’d fed me the night before, and imagined that was what filled me now. He’d feel even better. Deeper, harsher, and his face would be above mine, eyes staring me down. Or maybe I wouldn’t be allowed to see his face at all, just hear his primal groans and grunts behind me, as he took me on my hands and knees. He suckled my clit and suddenly I didn’t care how it happened. My very life depended on our f*cking again. Soon. And hard. The position didn’t matter. All that mattered was his body pounding into mine. Rough sex, rough hands, rough voice. Rough Kelly, taking what he wanted.

His fingers were making me crazy, a hot, dirty reminder of the thing that felt even better than this. “I need your cock.”

His mouth left me. “Do you then?”

“Please.”

And he was on his feet, grasping my ankles and hauling my legs back onto the bed.

As he climbed between my knees, he was hard again, like he’d never come. A condom materialized from the bedside table, and he looked me dead in the eyes as he rolled it down his cock.

He moved to my side, sitting up with his arms braced behind him. “Straddle me.”

I got one leg over and he did the rest, jerking me down, entering me hard with a sharp pang.

“Oh f*ck.” I grabbed the headboard, rushing to keep up with the motions his hands were demanding.

“Ride me. Hard.”

“Jesus, hang on.”

He eased up enough for me to find my way, negotiate the angles, get a rhythm going. When his bossy pulls resumed, I welcomed them. He could tell me what he wanted, beg for it with his hands, but for once I was in control of the sex. How deep, how fast.

“Yeah.” He shut his eyes, leaning back. “Fuck me.”

I slowed nearly to a halt. “Say please.”

His lips quirked, eyes opening. “Please.”

“That’s better. And f*ck you how, exactly?”

“Rough. And fast.”

“We’ll see.”

Those bullying hands forced my motions for a few thrusts, long enough that I couldn’t care about teasing him anymore. What he wanted felt too good. When he stopped dictating, I kept up the rhythm and intensity he’d established.

“Yeah. Fuck me.” His eyes were half-closed, lips and nose pink, expression drunken.

Charged by the moment, I held his face, cupped his ears and dug my thumbs into his cheeks, drawing his lips back just enough to expose a glimmer of teeth. I raked my nails over his scalp and felt him vibrate with a deep, low moan.

“Rough?” I asked, filled with dark mischief.

He nodded. “Yeah. Rough as you can handle.”

And I hit him. Slapped him with an open palm right across his face and jerked his head sideways.

I didn’t even know what made me do it, if it was anger or lust or blind impulse. But it felt good. He blinked for a second, gray eyes bleary.

He reached behind to clasp the headboard with both hands, gripping so tight a vein stood out along his triceps. “Again. Harder.”

My slap landed with a noise like a sound effect and left a pink mark rising beside his mouth.

“Good. Now f*ck me.”

I did. I f*cked him so fast and rough it felt like we were fighting, like my hips were possessed by a demon, like my life depended on it. He kneaded my ass, spanked me, spurred my motions with harsh pulls and growled commands—faster, harder, use my f*cking cock.