Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(43)

Not that he was paying any attention. Whenever she spied him in the darkened laptop screen, he looked 100 percent focused on the movie. His eyelids were heavy and his lips were parted, but then anyone’s would be watching total hotties writhe around the screen. And if his breathing was a little unsteady, so what? Hers probably would be, if she didn’t keep covering her eyes with one hand.

It was bad enough just hearing Mickey Rourke saying things like give it up.

And he apparently agreed.

“Jesus, this is f*cking hot.”

“Yeah, Kim Basinger is really sexy.”

“Is that really what you think I mean?”

She paused before answering. Tried to catch a glimpse of him in the screen again, so she could judge his expression, too. Was he trying to trap her somehow?

It felt that way. It felt weird again, like everything was sliding sideways.

“I don’t know what else you could be referring to.”

“I guess it must be that, then. Just her, getting herself off.”

“It’s kind of…interesting to see. Not something you get…often.”

“Fuck, no. And especially when she’s kind of a nervous person.”

“She is? I thought she seemed pretty confident.”

“Maybe he just brings it out in her.”

He spoke lightly, casually.

Too lightly though, in her opinion. The words seemed so insubstantial one tap could probably turn them to dust. The silence that followed almost destroyed them completely.

And her reply probably did the rest.

At the very least it made it clear: neither of them were talking about the movie.

“Maybe. Or maybe she just can’t stop herself.”

“So you think she’s out of control.”

“I think you could definitely make that argument.”

“That she just gets so horny she goes against all her better judgment?”

“She probably doesn’t want to. But then he does something and she just…”

“Gets all wet, and flushed, and ready to f*ck.”

“Yeah that sounds pretty close,” she said, but only as a kind of compromise.

Her body wanted her to moan on hearing him say ready to f*ck.

Her clit seemed to jump just at the sound of it.

“All she can think about is having his hard cock inside her.”

“I see. And does he think about that?”

“Oh f*ck yeah. Yeah, all the time.”

“It makes him horny then.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, so gruff and broken sounding she could hardly stand it.

And then he went ahead and added this:

“Jesus, Letty. Keep doing that. Just like that, honey, don’t stop.”

At first, she had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing had been made explicit. It still could have been a simple chat about the film they were watching, instead of a thinly veiled seduction filled with innuendo and implication. There was no real hint of impropriety.

Then she realized, in a hot rush of embarrassment, that her hips were moving. Somehow, in the middle of the conversation, she had started rolling them. More than that, really: she was almost rocking back against him. She was squirming in his arms, to the point where he had actually gotten worked up. So much so, in fact, that after he spoke he put a hand on her hip—as though he wanted to hold her there, and maybe make her push back against him more firmly.

Or maybe he could just push against her more firmly.

It seemed that way, at least. Suddenly she could feel something thick and solid, pressing into the split between the cheeks of her ass. Literally the only thing stopping his cock from going to some really rude places was her jeans, though they didn’t seem like jeans in that moment. They seemed as thin as gossamer, ready to give any second under the pressure. Once or twice she even felt the head of that fat thing rubbing over the entrance to her *, like one good push would do the trick.

But scarier still was her reaction to that.

She moaned, loud and long. Too loud and long to explain away. It sounded like someone wavering on the edge of orgasm, full of desire strained to the breaking point and desperate pleas for more. In fact, at one point she actually did plead for more—so she could hardly blame him for acting on it. His hand went to the buttons on her jeans the moment she let the sound out, so eager about it that she almost let him. She thought of him shoving them down roughly, those clever fingers finding her wet and wanting *.

And then he could just push in with that big, fat cock.

Fuck her like this, to the strains of people having sex onscreen and his own harsh breathing. Rut over her until she was all but crushed into the mattress, her face pressed deep in the pillow to hide her cries of pleasure. And they would be cries of pleasure, too. She knew he would make it good.

It was just that he had to do something first in order to get there: Expose her. Bare her ass to the air, in a way that did not seem flattering. All he would see was the thing he had once hurled insults at, and the second that thought occurred her hand went over his. Hard enough to sting him, quick enough to startle. He made a little sound of surprise, as though he’d been operating under the same sexual autopilot she had for the last five minutes.

But it was fine, it was cool.

She knew how to get him back there.

All she had to do was act like her touch was meant in a slightly different way. Not as a stop sign. More like an urgent need to push him further. She rubbed the heel of her hand against him and the heel of his hand rubbed between her legs, and to her relief he seemed to get it. He groaned, at least, and pressed that solid shape tighter against her ass.