Twisted(2)

Beautiful.

“You plan on doing something? Or are you just going to stare at me all night?”

I look up at him. And his eyes are eager, daring me to bring it on.

Oh, I can bring it. Don’t ever doubt that.

I lift my chin proudly and bring my hands between his thighs. Rubbing and massaging his balls slowly. I slide my hand up his already hard cock, gripping it tight—the way I know he likes—before giving it a few firm pumps.

Drew’s chest starts to rise faster.

Interesting indeed.

And before you ask, no, I wasn’t always this way. This adventurous.

Bold.

My entire sexual relationship with Billy involved two levels: shy and mundane. Hesitant and rote. And that’s just where it stayed. It was only after Drew that I realized how much Billy and I were holding each other back.

In sex—in life.

In each other’s eyes, we would always be Katie and Billy. Immature. Dependent. Forever young—like that Tuck movie about the fountain of youth.

Then Drew Evans came into my life, and the outspoken, demanding, and yes, horny woman who had been growing inside me for a decade was set free. At least in bed.

His bed.

I bend at the waist, ass in the air, and take his length in with my mouth. He jerks at the contact. The alcohol must have numbed my gag reflex, because I’m able to take him all the way down my throat.

And I do.

Four, five, six times. Then I bring my eyes to his. During a blow job? Guys love eye contact. Don‘t ask me why—I have no idea.

“You like it when I suck your cock, Drew?”

He likes dirty talk too. Actually, there’s not much Drew doesn’t like.

His eyes roll back. “Fuck, yes.”

I go back to work, letting my tongue get into the action.

His voice is breathy, panting. “God, baby—you give the best head. You could teach a frigging class.”

Ha—that’s funny! Dick Lick 101.

After almost two years together, I’m an expert at reading Drew’s body language. So when his hips start to lift and his hands clench in the air, I know he’s close. His appreciative grunts and groans almost make me abandon my plan.

But I don’t.

At the last second, just before he comes, I pull away. And sit up. Drew’s eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the explosion that’s not coming.

He opens his eyes and they’re bewildered.

I smile, feeling empowered.

And naughty.

I yawn dramatically. “You know, that wine really took a lot out of me. I’m kind of tired.”

“Wh . . . what?” he pants.

“I think I need a breather. You don’t mind, do you?”

Drew growls, “Kate . . .”

I swing my leg over him, sliding his massively impressive hard-on between my legs. Sitting on it, but not letting it slip inside.

“I’m kind of thirsty too. I’m going to get a glass of water. You want some?”

“This isn’t f*cking funny, Kate.”

Oooh, he’s mad.

Scary.

I slide my finger down the middle of his chest. “Who’s laughing?”

He pulls at the cuffs—harder this time. When the locks hold, I giggle. Who knew poking a lion with a stick could be so much fun?

“Relax, Drew. Stay put like a good boy and I’ll come back . . .” I shrug. “Eventually.”

I kiss his nose quickly, hop off the bed, and scurry from the room as he calls my name.

Don’t look at me like that; I’m just teasing him a little. You know he deserves it. No harm in that, right?



I skip down the hall to the kitchen, proud of myself. When I step onto the cold tile floor, goose bumps rise up my legs and down my arms. I really am thirsty, so I get a glass from the cabinet and fill it with cold water.

Standing at the sink I take a nice long gulp, closing my eyes as the cool liquid soothes my dry throat. A drop trails down my chin, over my collarbone, and down my breast.

Without warning, a hard chest presses up against my back, shocking me. I squeak and the glass drops and shatters in the sink.

I don’t know how he got free, but the handcuffs are dangling from his wrists. Rough hands pull me back, trapping me.

I shiver as seductive warm breath scrapes my ear.

“That wasn’t nice, Kate. I can be not nice too.”

His voice is low—not angry, but firm. It’s incredibly arousing.

One hand grips my hair at the nape and pulls, making me arch my back and press my pelvis against the rim of the sink. He jerks my head to the side, and then he’s kissing me—plunging his tongue into my mouth as I race to keep up.

The kiss is possessive.

Dominating.

A moment later he pushes easily inside me and starts a pounding rhythm, his lower abdomen slapping against my ass with each push.

It’s exhilarating.

I hear myself moan. The counter bites into my stomach, but I don’t care. All I can feel is Drew.

Controlling me. Driving me. Owning me.

His free hand grips mine and brings it around front to my clit. Pressing my fingers down, compelling me to pleasure myself.

Guys have a thing for masturbation. I’ve come to realize it’s a huge turn-on—like throwing a match into a barrel of gasoline.

He releases my hand, but my fingers continue to move like he wants them to. Like I’m a puppet on a string, and Drew is the master puppeteer. And then he leans back, taking the heat of his chest away.