After Hours (InterMix)(66)

I adjusted my thighs so my clit rubbed his base each time I eased my hips back. The fight-f*cking was hot, but the contact was breathtaking. I was nearing the edge within seconds, the feedback loop of friction and conflict and the sight of Kelly’s body and face speeding to a blur as the pleasure boiled up inside me.

“Fuck, you feel good.” I started laughing before I got all the words out, drunk on the sex.

Had I even ever had sex before Kelly? Like I’d thought I’d gone swimming, splashing in the bathtub, but now here I was dropped in the middle of the f*cking ocean. I wrapped my arms around his neck, ignoring his hands’ orders. My clit was calling the shots, and I ground against him in tight, honed motions, doing exactly what the pleasure demanded. I cupped Kelly’s head and let him hear every ugly noise the feeling squeezed from my lungs, every whimper and moan and grunt. His fingertips whispered up and down my back, hips tensing in time with my rhythm.

“Good. Use me.”

“Jesus, Kelly. Keep talking.”

He put his lips to my ear. “Ride my cock. Wreck yourself. Feel how f*cking hard you make me, and remember it every goddamn time we pass each other on the ward.”

“Kel.”

“Think about this every night before you go to sleep, and imagine me doing the same. Wishing to hell my hand felt even half as good as your cunt.”

That did it. Of all the dangerous thoughts, that one tipped me—the idea that Kelly might miss me, after our sweat dried and Saturday dawned.

My body turned frantic, a writhing knot of legs and arms and fingers whose only purpose was to master Kelly.

“Good. Good. Come on that cock, girl.”

“Fuck.” I was dizzy from wanting. The pleasure was a hook inside me, linked to some chain winching tighter, tighter, tighter. Then—

“Yes. Good.” Kelly’s voice somewhere, above me or below, inside me. I was trembling, moaning, quaking in his lap and pawing at his arms. I came like an exorcism, the harshest, most violent, barbed pleasure drawn through me and ripped back out, until I was crumpled against his chest, shaking.

He was stroking my hair, kissing my ear. If not for the thrumming pulse of his cock inside me, he’d have felt impossibly tender.

“Good,” he whispered, and cupped my head.

I let myself stay that way, panting, my chest slippery against his.

“Whoa,” I finally mumbled.

I felt a laugh I couldn’t hear and smiled, unseen.

“That was f*cking sexy.”

“Oh my God.” I sat up straight, not caring how feral I must’ve looked. Let him see what he did to me.

He smoothed my hair from my face, traced my jaw and skimmed his fingers down my throat, collarbone, breasts, waist. “Nobody’s f*cked me that good in ages.”

I laughed. “I didn’t even get you off.”

“You will. Unless you broke your hip or something.”

I shifted in his lap. “Creaky, not broken.”

“Good,” he said, expression darkening, hands beginning to tug again.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just what you were doing. Just f*ck me.” His gaze was nailed to the space between us, thighs tensing in time with my motions, deepening the sex. In no time at all, I could feel him losing control. It spurred my own need to be in charge, to own his pleasure in retaliation for the way it felt he’d been owning mine since that night he’d forced my orgasms in my room.

“You close, Kel?”

“Fuck yes. Don’t stop.”

I stopped.

Kelly swore, grasped my thighs roughly to urge the motions, but I locked my muscles.

“Beg me,” I said with a smile.

“Fuck, please.”

“Please what?”

“Make me come.” He looked me dead in the eyes, and shot me a crazed, smarmy, powerless smile. Through his teeth he hissed, “Please.”

“Like this?” I asked, rocking forward and back, slower than he needed.

“You f*cking know how I want it.”

I quit my taunting, settling him deep inside me and moving in quick strokes.

He kneaded my hips. “Yeah. Like that.”

Pride rippled through me. I knew how to please this hard, unreadable man. I was halfway to taming him.

As I rode him I ran my nails through his hair, stroked his shoulders, watched his face turn from mean to needy to some pleasurable twin of pain. When his flushed lips parted, I knew he was losing it.