Page 107 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
My thighs tremble even as they’re supported by the edge of the bed, and my heart rebels in the cavern of my chest with an equally loud echo—one that I’m sure he can hear among the viscous sloshes and the slapping of skin.
Ceasing his onslaught on my ass, he sets his attention on my hair, weaving his fingers through the strands and yanking harshly. “Don’t lie to me, Calista. Especially not when I’m inside you.”
God, I hate him sometimes. I really do. I hate him with the burning passion of a thousand suns—oh!
Gage speeds up with his punishing ruts, delving somehow deeper, the balls of his piercings bumping inside me. They don’t fully set me off, but they’re like tickles of cold against my sweltering heat, teasing me with the choreographed roll of his pelvis. My brain’s so addled with delirium that my smart-ass reply fuzzes on my tongue, and I’m stripped of the ability to thread together a full sentence.
I can feel his cock dancing just outside of my G-spot, refraining from giving me that instant gratification, and at the same time whimpers warble out of me, satisfaction rumbles to life in his chest. “Not going to lie to me again, are you?” he taunts.
My tone assumes an acrid bitterness that I unashamedly love the taste of. “Are you going to stop being a pretentious ass?” I hiss, bearing back down on his dick and causing him to falter in his sequence of pumps, his hand sliding out of my hair and slamming against the mattress to steady himself.
I know I should be shaking in my metaphorical boots, seizing up in stomach-turning anticipation for the punishment he’s about to give me, but I love playing with him, testing the limits he’s willing to stretch and obliterating them completely.That sought-after victory is just outside my reach, and no way in hell am I going to submit that easily.
Gage’s breath shudders out of him, but his tongue still curls around a note of irritation. “Wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t such a brat.”
“I’m not a brat. I’m just not some cock-dumb girl drooling over you,” I counter, all while getting split on Gage’s engorged length, his leisurely pace graduating to a rough set of bottoming thrusts that pinch tears from the corners of my eyes.
It feels so fucking good. The pressure in my lower stomach is almost painful, but it’s the kind of painful I chase in increments—and the kind of painful that leaks from my stuffed cunt in milky-white emissions.
He leans forward enough to brush his lips over the shell of my ear, the heft of his ball sack hanging heavy against the backs of my thighs. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
I wish I could rebound with another witty remark, but my words are on a collision course with the mewls that tumble from my raw throat. My cunt flutters around the plug of his dick, lubricating enough of his shaft to suck him in deeper than he already is, and my walls ripple over the foreign metal of his piercings. They satisfy a recurring itch I can’t scratch, and the way Gage weaponizes them makes bliss froth in my belly.
He removes his steeling arm and drags his hand down the arch of my spine, resting his fingers on my healing tattoo, and a shiver folds like an accordion through my body.
“Why’d you get my number here, Spitfire?” he asks, though I know the question is rhetorical.
And considering I’m the putty in his hands for a change, I don’t have it in me to engage in flirtatious banter. I need to come. I need it so badly that I’m at the point of praising Gage just so I can feel that liquefying release.Praisinghim. Every time I growthat ego of his, a little part of me dies inside. I’ll be eviscerated by the time he pulls out of me.
“Did you really think I’d wear your jersey every time we had sex?”
Gage’s cock stirs—whether it’s from my bite or the image, I have no clue. “Considering how many times we have sex, that would be ridiculous.”
Even though we’re having a full-on conversation for God knows why in the middle of fucking, his plows never plateau to a sloppy mess, and that hockey player stamina of his doesn’t even jeopardize a single breath. He’s all hard muscle against me, the grill of his abs pressing into my ass, and every nerve pathway inside of me lights up in preparation for a sensory overload.
“You could’ve gotten it anywhere else?—”
A warning halfway to a growl. “Gage…”
A whimper lurches out of his quivering frame, and he gently forceps the skin of my back between two fingers. “You got it so I would see it every time I took you from behind, didn’t you?”
I hydrate my esophagus with a swallow, white-knuckling the covers beneath me, trying to redirect my focus on anything but the hungry kickback of his cock or the shamefully abundant gush now coating his length.
“I got it so I’d turn you on every time I reached for something on the top shelf,” I jest.
“Baby, you turn me on by simply fucking breathing,” he groans, snaking his other hand to my swaying tit, where he circles the tapered point of my nipple with his thumb before pressing down. Sensitive—as is every part of my body under Gage’s Midas touch—I rear my ass back into his torso, blighted by the need to squirm.
He tweaks my bud once more in that torturous seesaw motion, and gooseflesh ignites over my clammy skin, unearthing all kinds of embarrassing noises to grate from my mouth.
“Gage, please…”
He switches his attention from my nipple to the mound of my breast, kneading it with his large hand, rough enough to make my belly contract but soft enough to abstain from leaving a bruise. “You gonna be a good girl now, Cali? You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your sopping wet cunt? You gonna let me come all over that slutty little tramp stamp?”
I nod weakly, mentally trying to bargain with my hormones to chill the fuck out before I lose the last bit of my dignity, but they toxify the lust-thinned blood running through my system and suck my sensible thoughts into a black hole.
“Use your words,” he orders. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”
The slightly wet smack of his balls against my legs reverberates in the room as he speeds up, knowing just how much control I surrender when he quickens his pace, and it feels like my innards are mutilating themselves with each pull of his dick. He nicks my G-spot, and the tears now snail down my cheeks.
