Page 52 of Crazy Thing

“You like that?” Darius asks, his hand moving faster now.

I swallow. I nod.

“Yeah. Just like that,” he mutters when I start rocking my pelvis, squeezing down on his digits. “Yeah. Ride my hand just like that, Ziggy.”

His stare is too intense. His touch is too intense. Even the labored way he’s breathing, like he’s barely holding himself back. I can’t take it.

If I read anything into the way he’s handling this moment, I might start feeding myself lies. Lies about feelings. I might start attaching an emotional meaning to the physical act that’s unfolding between us tonight.

I whimper again, my eyelids falling closed.

“No,” he rasps out firmly, and my eyes quickly flash open. “No, don’t close your eyes. I want to see your pretty face when I dothis…”

He curls his fingers. Right against my G-spot.

And my entire world unravels.

The flash of arrogance that bolts across his face tells me that he knows. Before I can even make a sound, he knows that I’m coming apart.

My cries become erratic and Darius covers my mouth with his, greedily swallowing my sounds. And I ride, ride, ride his hand as a devastating orgasm shakes its way through me.

My eyeballs roll. My toes curl. I break out into a hot sweat. And euphoria sparks at my core.

Darius keeps going and going and going until I collapse, limp against his chest.

And then, I’m vaguely aware of him pressing kisses to my lips and scooping me up in his arms. Startled by his sudden movement, I brace my noodle-like arms around his neck as he moves toward the couches on the other side of the rooftop, carrying my dead weight like it’s nothing.

I’m trying to make sense of the strange turn this night has taken. I’m trying to remember how I ended up topless and sweaty, wearing nothing but my favorite peasant skirt as Darius caries my orgasm-riddled body across a secluded terrace under the moonlight.

A tiny part of me is suddenly terrified. Is he already done with me? Now that he’s had his way with me, is he about to close the door between us and shut me out again?

Shit—this is what I get for breaking my promise to myself. I swore I’d never again give my body to a man who’s not interested in a meaningful connection with me, a connection that goes beyond physical pleasure. Tonight, I did the exact opposite, and now Darius is about to discard me again.

When he sits me down, I feel the rough fabric of the couch beneath my ass. I prop my weak body against the arm of the couch and try to recover my senses.

“Darius…” I whimper, my head still fuzzy from my orgasm.

He crawls over me, a million stars shining over his broad shoulders. “Can you take another?” he’s whispering to me.

I try to make sense of his words in my blurry mind. “Wh-what…?”

Pulling off his T-shirt and carelessly tossing it aside, his eyes remain focused on me. Only me. “I want to make you come again. Can you handle that?”

Without thinking, my hands are on his body, exploring the muscular planes of his sculpted chest. Oh, god—theman’s body is glorious. Toned and tattooed. Bronzed and so, so smooth.

The sound I make is completely unintelligible so I settle for nodding my head. I don’t think. I don’t analyze. I don’t let my brain drag me off into the uncertain future.

I stay in the now. And in the now, I want Darius all over me again.

With the grin of a winner, he tugs my skirt down my legs and finally, I’m completely naked.

Kneeling between my open thighs, Darius spreads me wide and slowly drags a finger through my aching seam. “Dammit—look at these pretty pink petals, all silky and wet for me.”

He unbuckles his jeans, unzipping them before sliding his hand into his boxers and slowly stroking down the length of his erection. My mouth waters, curiosity prodding me, reminding me how much I want to discover his body, to explore.

But right now, Darius is intent on exploring me.

The cushions dip under his weight as he kneels between my open thighs, gazing at my needy womanhood, teasing my folds with his fingers.

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