Page 55 of The First Kind of Love
“Hell yeah.”
17
UNLEASH THE BEAST
SHILOH
My back slams so hard against the wall that a numb tingle ricochets up my spine, glitching my brain into standby mode as I struggle to breathe some sobriety into my lungs.
Fulton’s fingers cage my jaw, and he bends down to whisper in my ear. “Tell me about the kiss, Shiloh.” His voice is a growl, gut-deep, forged from an appetite that I know won’t be satiated by my blatant half-truths.
He’s talking about my kiss with Aeris.
Even though he’s being rough with me, there’s no threat backing his words or actions. I feel giddy about the possibility of being destroyed and recreated under his Midas touch.
“It was…”
“Did you like tongue-fucking her in front of me?”
With a harsh buck of his hips into my lower half, I can feel the buildup of arousal stressing against the zipper of his pants. I grind my pelvis over the bulge, a pathetic noise strangling in my throat.
“Are you jealous, Fulton?” I tease, feeling his distended cockstir in response, and maybe I’m as much of a masochist as he is, but I can’t help the miniature waterfall of slick that pools in my underwear.
Fulton’s such a gentle spirit. He’s so patient, so kind, so understanding. But the beast in me yearns for the beast in him, and when it comes to the raw, animalistic facets of sex, he transforms into something so unlike himself that it’s almost like he has a split personality. He’s like a rabid dog resource guarding, baring its fangs and biting at anyone who comes near his precious, precious toys.
I’ve never been wanted like that before.
“Jealous?Jealous?” His grip on my chin tightens, the sinews of his back roiling with so much pent-up tension that each heavy inhale stretches the T-shirt across his chest. “Of course I’m fucking jealous, Shi. You put your tongue in someone else’s mouth.”
“We’re not together,” I remind him.
A stupid, childish part of me wants to suffocate him with that notion—wants him to refute it—but he doesn’t take the bait.
“Wearen’ttogether, but that shit changes when you’re grinding that sweet little pussy over my cock.”
With the angle of his hips, he strokes upwards into my clothed cunt, and my legs part for him unresistingly as shame tickles my cheeks in a flash flood of heat. “You’re mine right now. Say it.”
Lust and anticipation draw taut behind my navel, the throbbing in my cunt suffering as an unremedied aftereffect. The pant legs of my romper are beginning to cinch and show my inner thighs, and any more exposure won’t bode well for the entirely soaked gusset of my panties. Fulton’s flush against me, the width of his hipbones pinning me in place like the prettiest Monet. Each time he breathes, I can feel his hard stomach expand.
“I’m…yours,” I gasp, tipping the scales of this arrangement as I claw my hand through his hair, gathering a fistful of strands and pulling.
“Are you going to let me undress you, Sunshine? Are you going to let me pull your panties down with my teeth?”
“Y-yes.”
Fulton’s hands play with the strap on my shoulder, and he nudges his head into my jaw, surmounting my nervous rigidity as he gains access to the vulnerable underbelly of my neck. His lips delicately suck the thin skin there, unearthing a passage of untouched flesh where his butterfly kisses imbed their transient nature into a sweat-dotted canvas.
“Come on, baby. I’m all about consent. I need you to use your full words for me.”
Shaky consonants stagger from my lips, my heart pounding like a mallet against the curvature of my ribs. My tenaciousness isn’t so much a result of repeating something so crude, but rather a result of initiating the pleasure-pain storm that’s about to strike a match on every one of my flammable nerves.
“You can pull my panties down. With your teeth.”
Fulton rushes me with his hands and lips, and a hungry outpouring of urgency has my tits bared to him in record time, my clothing shucked and thrown to the side as if it was nothing but an offending scrap of material. He leaves my undergarment, though—the one that’s been saturated with an unmissable dark spot.
Thankfully for me, the embarrassment is a gradual rumble instead of a thunderclap, and I take advantage of his tongue dragging against mine as he smears the spicy aftertaste of vodka across my taste buds. While I’ve still got him in my grasp, I grab blindly for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over the winding hills of his muscles. The beginning of a nearly inaudible whine develops deep in his chest—inexorable desire leaking through the blown-out aperture in his tone.
Shirt divested, his abdominals looking way too lickable for their own good, he continues his onslaught on my mouth—a melding of lips, a colliding of teeth, and a ruthless bite to any soft, plump surface in the immediate vicinity.
