Page 70 of Love and Loathing

She wanted to stay there, the thick ridge of his cock pressed against her naked front, his warm, firm chest against her bare skin. But he pushed her gently from him again and turned her around.

“Go and lie on the bed. Face down. That’s a good girl.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder as she left the room, but he merely smiled, lifted his coffee and saluted her with it. He was probably going to stand there and drink it, check the post on his kitchen counter, read his emails… She went to his room, climbed onto the bed, lying as he instructed, quivering with want and need, with excitement, with nerves, with frustration, with amusement, half-laughing at herself, at the ridiculousness of it all, even though it was also very, very serious, how badly she wanted him. She needed him now, heat blooming over her skin followed by shivers in the cool air. The duvet under her cheek was dark and clean, smelled like him, like his neat, grown-up life, luxurious and tasteful, and she wanted himnow.She writhed, impatient, seeking pressure, friction, beginning to feel ridiculous all over again. Was he even going to come? How long was she meant to lie here, waiting, naked—

“Stop squirming.”

She went still at his voice. The mattress dipped as he sat down near her. She caught a glimpse of his dark smile, then gasped at the sudden touch of his hands on the back of her thighs, drawing her legs apart. “You’re not getting anything until I say so. Stay still.”

A shudder of unbearable anticipation went through her, only made worse when he trailed his fingers up the back of her legs, over her backside, and up her back. He did it again, slowly, and again, the touch so insignificant compared to what she needed. She grunted, breathing hard, pressing herself into the bed, seeking more.

“Stop moving.” He followed the words with a light smack, and she whimpered at the sudden rush of sensation—exactly what she needed, craved, but he went back to stroking her, fingers moving up the inside of her thigh now, getting so close and then—

“Aubrey…”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to make me beg?”

He ran his hand up her thigh again, stopping short. “I think so, yes.”

She squirmed again in frustration, and he pinned her down, hands on the backs of her thighs.

“None of that.” Then his mouth was there. He was kneeling between her legs, lips grazing her skin, her thighs, the swell of her backside. She felt his tongue, the graze of his teeth and his hands tightened on her legs as she shifted, unable to help herself.

“Aubrey, please…please…”

He let go, shifted back. “On your knees, Evie.”

She did it, raised herself up, knew he would look…

“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice was a low murmur, she felt the breath of it on her slick skin. He looked, didn’t touch…

“Please…”

She cried out as he licked her, the sweep of his tongue an explosion of sensation that made her grunt, breathless, face down on the mattress, fingers clawing into the covers. She wanted to grind back, take more, but he held her firm, gripping her hips as he took what he wanted to take, a few slow licks, then his tongue delving inside her, making her moan.

“I like the taste of your need, Evie,” he murmured, letting her go. He pushed her back down to the mattress with a firm hand on her spine. “Roll over.”

She did, found him looking at her, dark-eyed, something infinite in his look that went beyond appreciation, went beyond this room, a question with endless answers. He leant down, kissed her mouth as sweetly as though he’d never done a filthy thing in his life. Her breath shook, a new kind of tremor running through her, jagged and strange, cool and bright. It mingled with the throbbing heat between her legs, swirled into the remembered touch of his tongue down there. She gripped his shoulders, the back of his neck, pulled him so close that his lips bruised hers.

“Evie,” he breathed, mouth skating her neck now, her collar bone, finding her nipples with a gentle suck that made her hips rock up to meet him. “I could torture you all night, but I just want you, now… I want you…”

She nodded and his hand was between her legs, guiding himself inside. He pushed in, met her eyes, watched her face as he filled her.

“That’s it,” he breathed, talking to no one, to the moment, to the feeling. He kissed her again, hand on her thigh, bringing her leg over his hip as he rocked into her.

He went so deep, so deep she almost couldn’t bear it, he was invading her everywhere. He was in her bones and her blood, his body moving inside hers, not just claiming it, but altering it, making it his own, a permanent place for him inside her. There was no resisting him… He fucked her, and he unmade her, and she was his, to use like this, or however he wanted to use her.

He said her name. His mouth found hers. But it was a desperate kiss, both too far gone to remember how, remember anything but the pleasure building. She hid her face in his shoulder, the muscle of it hard and hot, her hand was on his neck, every part of her was wrapped around him, coiled so unbearably tight, on the verge of being broken by him. And just before she fractured, she found herself thinking maybe he was right, it was too soon, because this was the end, her life was his, there was no going back…

“Aubrey…” She cried his name like a plea, and he came into her harder, faster, and brought her over the edge, both of them together.

TWENTY-NINE

Aubrey left in themorning, much against his will, heading to a clinically sharp office building for a day of fucking spreadsheets and Powerpoint presentations.

“I hate you,” he said to Roscoe by way of greeting.

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