Page 48 of Wilde's End
“How many times have you had sex in here?” I ask.
He grunts, and his thick finger fills me completely. “Plenty.”
“That’s not a number.”
“I don’t have a number. Keeping count is ridiculous.” His tone tells me to back off, so of course, I do the math.
“Every month. That’s twelve times a year. For … how many years?”
“Too many.”
“Ten?”
“Too many.”
“Let’s say at least ten. So a hundred and twenty times. One hundred and twenty times you’ve been in this same spot with who knows how many men.”
Wilde’s glare deepens, but he doesn’t stop fucking me with his finger.
“And it will be this time that’s burned into your memory for the rest of your life.”
He actually chuckles. Dark and smooth, the confidence of it takes up space in my chest. “That’s a bold claim.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s only a few inches away, and when he adds a second finger, a relievedhuhpuffs from my lips. The gleam that fills his eyes is delighted to pull that sound from me, but it’s all I’m planning to give him. Just enough so he knows how into this I am, but not enough to satisfy. Not yet.
“Me though?” I continue. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more bored. Strange way to make it memorable for me.”
He shoves both fingers into my hole, hard, choking a second’s breath from me as I adjust to the burn. He stretches me open, brushing my prostate without giving it any real attention, and I’m vibrating at how good it feels.
“I expected better,” I have to force through my teeth because if I separate them, I might do something as stupid as moan.
“Tell that to your cock.”
“Why? It’s not picky.”
Somehow, the distance between us has tightened, and Wilde’s gray eyes are the only things I can see. They’re darker than I’m used to, and his black eyelashes are enough to shield most of what he’s thinking from me. Except the very clear message he’sprojecting: I’m the last person he wants to fuck and he can’t help doing it anyway.
I pick up on that thought easily because it’s the exact same one I’m having. Being able to admit that my attraction to him is surface-deep is something I can thank Sutton for. He never tried to be anything other than an asshole, and I still remember the day I distinctly realized that I didn’t like him. At all. There was nothing about him as a person that appealed to me, but he was hot, and that’s apparently all my dick cared about.
I can’t even claim that Wilde’s hot. His beard hides too much of his face.
But that huge body, steady glare, and refusal to take things easy on me is a new low for my cock to sink to, and I’m letting it get away with the shitty standards anyway.
A tiny twitch meets the corner of his lips. “You’re riding my fingers hard for someone who’s bored.”
Fuck. I didn’t even notice the way my hips were grinding back into him. “Just getting impatient for you to give me more.”
“You’ll get more when you shut that fucking mouth of yours.”
“Guess your cock is going to be disappointed because I don’t plan on that happening.”
He yanks his fingers from me, spits on them, and then places them back at my entrance. This time when he pushes inside, he uses all three, and my balls tighten as I force myself to relax into the stretch.
“Look at that. Quiet.”
“You try talking while someone shoves three fingers up your ass.”
