My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(60)

I almost choked on her panties. From laughter or outrage, I wasn’t sure.

“Yes. Yes. Like that, but maybe…maybe even faster.”

The childish glee in her voice racketed my pulse.

My heart battered my ribs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt it working properly. Usually, it did the bare minimum of keeping me alive and not an ounce more.

She writhed and moaned beneath me, clamping her legs around my skull in a death grip, ensuring I didn’t go anywhere. It would take three armies and an entire apocalypse to nudge me away.

Dallas Costa was fine art. I wanted to frame her in this moment and return to the scene whenever the urge to devour her reared its ugly head.

She was so receptive. Brimming with genuine excitement. Nothing about her response to me was premeditated or calculated. She was ruthlessly honest.

Honest when she told me how much she hated me with everything she had.

And honest when I made her fall apart with my tongue and fingers.

Best of all, she was so different from Morgan Lacoste, who only let go and got off on my tongue when drunk, which was universally more frequent than one should be intoxicated.

Ruthless, calculated Morgan cared more about looking good during sex than actually enjoying the act.

“Yes. Yes! I’m coming!”

My little undomesticated pornstar pushed me so hard between her legs, my oxygen levels plummeted. She clenched around my fingers through her panties as an orgasm rolled through her in waves.

The gush of warmth soaked the cotton. I kissed her through the fabric, again and again, knowing tomorrow everything would return to its proper position—my boundaries, my limits, my hang-ups, my demons.

“Can I return the favor?” Dallas sat half up. “But not through your briefs. Men’s briefs always smell like old cheese that’s been sitting in a crockpot for days. I know because whenever my housekeeper went on vacation, we all took turns doing the laundry. And, well, I really shouldn’t say, but Dadd—”

Not wanting the moment to be ruined with a conversation about her father’s underwear, I pulled forward, shutting her smart mouth with a kiss that tasted like her sweet pussy.

At first, she pinched her lips and made a face, unsure what she thought about her own taste.

But when I dragged the tip of my hard cock along her slit through our clothes, she went wild and kissed me back, shoving her tongue so deep down my throat I thought she would fish out my dinner.

“Yes.” She wiggled against me. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

She’d quoted Oliver Twist while getting fucked.

Truly, the woman was one of a kind.

Knowing it was idiotic, and dangerous, and deranged, I pushed my tip through her slit. She was tight—tighter, still, through the tattered, stretched cotton of her ruined panties—but wet and sleek, ready for what was coming.

The sensation, how warm and taut she felt, completely undid me. I thrust harder and deeper, entering her through our underwear, fucking her slowly with only flimsy fabric between us.

I tore my mouth from hers, eyes glued to my cock each time it sank into her. I could barely fit inside, she was so tight.

This was, by far, the best fuck I’d ever had.

She panted. “Is this what people call dry-humping?”

No.

Nothing about this was dry. I was basically fucking her through our underwear.

Only, explaining to her that this was full-blown sex with a side order of my issues was not in my plans for tonight. Or ever.

“Sure.”

Each push brought me closer to a climax.

From slow, controlled, teasing thrusts designed to drive her mad with desire, I quickly derailed to jerky, manic, need-to-be-inside-this-woman plunges. Of a man so hungry for human connection, for affection, for carnal needs to be met and satisfied.

My head grew dizzy. I’d taken into consideration the possibility that Dallas couldn’t come through penetration. It merely placed her in the same majority as most females on Planet Earth.

But she shook, clawed, and reached for me, looking ready to climax. Her tits bounced and jiggled each time I slammed into her.

Her mouth opened in awe, probably because this orgasm felt different from the first two. Deeper and more violent.

She clutched the lapels of my shirt, shoving her face in mine. “Lose the underwear.” She met my thrust, groaning when my crown peeked past the slot in my boxer briefs. “I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you.”

I was about two seconds from fulfilling her demand. Luckily, my logic grabbed the steering wheel, which my cock had seized sometime this evening, and derailed the situation from full-blown calamity.

I managed to wait until she came, just barely, before pulling out, flipping her onto her stomach, and jerking off.

I aimed for her bare ass but somehow came on her hair. No matter. She had plenty of time to wash it. Her agenda wasn’t exactly full.

Dallas fell back onto the pillows, a lopsided grin on her face.

“It’s official.” She pulled me down with her and peppered my face with wet, sloppy kisses, reminding me, yet again, that the difference between her and a puppy was indeed negligible. “Having sex is my new favorite sport.”

“Sex is not a sport.”

“It should be. I would do it all day long if that were a thing.”

“It is. It’s called prostitution.”