Page 69 of Making Choices

Does she know what she’s in for if I take her bait?

The lust that’s gleaming in her gaze makes me think she knows exactly what she’s offering.

“Hold on, doll.” I grip her hips and lift her off me to place her back on her feet. Before she can complain, I push her shoulders until her butt has hit the low-line sideboard behind us. Her mouth drops open and she smiles until I spin her around and grab hold of her right wrist.

“Hands on the wall. You move them, I’m gonna blow on your face.” Without waiting for Bebe’s response, I seize hold of her left wrist and press her palm to the wall next to her other hand. Bent over the buffet, she’s obliged to arch her back and push up onto her tip toes. “Hold that position and I’ll let you come.”

I push the skirt of her dress upward until it’s bunched beneath her breasts, then I twist her panties and pull. Once her arse is bare, I drop the torn silk to the floor, slap each pale cheek, and thrust my thigh between hers to spread her legs. After pulling my shirt over my head, I unbutton my jeans and free my cock. I swipe the pile of books in our way to the floor and force her to bend at the waist until her tits are pressed to the top of the sideboard. When Bebe’s posture stiffens and she shoots an angry look at me over her shoulder, I arch an eyebrow.

“You’d prefer to fight?”

“I’d prefer to take this to your bed so we can take our time. Maybe even touch you for once.”

“Not on the cards, doll,” I tell her with absolute honesty. “Only bed any woman I’m fuckin’ gets her arse in is the one at the clubhouse. Also not the touchy-feely kind. So, if any of that’s a deal breaker for you, tap out now.”

Bebe pushes her arse against my hard-on. “You make the rules… right now I’ll take you how I can get you.”

“Good.” I push inside her tight heat with one thrust. Bebe inhales sharply. Withdrawing a little, I force myself the rest of the way inside her and she hisses when I bottom out. Nipping at her neck, I enquire, “Too much, doll?”

“For a supposed savage, you ask a lot of questions.”

“If you say so, bumblebee.” At my use of Jack’s pet name, Bebe starts bucking like a madwoman. I take hold of her hips and match her violence with my thrusts. She swears at me and digs her nails into my hands when her feet leave the floor. “Uh, uh, uh… no touching.”

I gather her arms in one hand and pin them to her lower back. As she struggles to get free, I push into her as hard as I can. With every up stroke her feet leave the ground. She groans, a low throaty sound that tells me how much she enjoys the fight. Like she demanded, I stop talking and fuck her.

It’s hard. Fast. Lacking rhythm. Rutting at its most base.

I take what I need.

Bebe does the same.

When I slap her arse, once, twice, a third, fourth, and fifth time, her hips buck, then her pussy grips me tight. She orgasms with my name on her lips. Bebe’s spasming walls milk me with precision, and I erupt inside her before I can stop myself. Although I’ve already started to fill her with cum, I still withdraw and finish on her arse.

Finally, as my body is flooded with oxytocin, the tight ball of rage that’s weighed down my gut since Venom left Cherub loosens. Spent, I slump over Bebe and press a gentle kiss to the back of her head.

“You fucking idiot.” Bebe twists beneath me and sinks her teeth into my pec. I shuffle away from her, stumbling backward when she shoves me in the chest. “I’m not on the pill.” Momentarily trapped between heaven and hell, a glorious place where my problems no longer exist, I don’t register her outrage until my arse hits the floor. Bebe uses her torn panties to wipe between her legs, then yanks her dress back into place and sneers down at me. “Seriously, how dumb can you be? This was supposed to be a circuit breaker for you, not the creation of another crisis.”

I look up at her with disbelieving eyes. “Get the mornin’ after pill.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” she seethes. “It’s still not the point. You could have anything.”

“I don’t fuck without a condom.”

“Bullshit.” Bebe’s face turns red. “You’ve fucked me twice without one.”

“And that was a…” I stop talking when I realise what I’m about to say.

There is a calculating edge to her voice when she asks, “Mistake?”

“No.” I push to my feet and, overcome with belated modesty, I turn my back to her to button my jeans. When I’m facing her again, I try to rearrange my face into something that resembles sincerity. “Look, you’re a beautiful woman, but I shouldn’t have mixed business with pleasure. It was wrong because—”

“You’re in love with Anna.”

“What?”

Bebe’s green gaze fills with malicious intent. “Tell me I’m wrong?”

“You’re wrong.” My heart races and I blink fast. I repeat my denial a second time. “You’re wrong.”

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