Page 112 of The Bronze Garza
“Since you like sitting on top of things, go over there,” he orders me. “Sit on the table. Spread for me.”
Oh god, yes.Sexual excitement strums my veins.
I’vewantedthis. For him to order me around, tell me what to do. I’velongedto obey that voice without a breath of hesitation.
So, that’s what I do.
I walk over to the white, six-seater table, scoot away one of the chairs, then hoist myself up on the cool, flat surface. Pressing my palms down behind me, I spread my legs.
Even from across the room, I can see the dark shadows of lust overcasting the green in his eyes.
“How wet are you, Lyra?” He removes his leather jacket, tossing it aside. “Slip your fingers inside those purple panties and tell me.”
As he pulls off his black tee next, I bite my lip to quell its quivering and slip my hand down inside my panties. The insane level of wetness I find does not surprise me. My engorged clit is so desperate for attention that it submits to my touch, not wanting to wait for his. “Wet,” I gasp out. “So…wet.”
Through lidded slits, I watch him stalk over to me while undoing his belt. The closer he gets, the more I circle my fingers around my nub, soft sighs escaping me as anticipation of his touch quickens my pulse.
When he’s in front of me, his hot hands settling on my thighs, I press down on my clit and moan. What is it about him that makes me so sexually crazed and uninhibited?
“You aren’t very good at compliance, are you?” he rasps, ripping my hand away. “Tell you to do one thing and you either ignore it or do whatever else you want.”
And here I thought I was being obedient.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and sucks my arousal off my fingers. His tongue sends waves of heady sensations through me, evoking a throaty groan.
Reaching down, he grips my panties with both fists, and with little effort, rips them in two. I don’t mourn the loss. He bought them, so he can do whatever he wants.
When he dips his head and suckles my nipple at the same time he glides his fingers through my slick folds, I mewl in appreciation.God.His touch is like magic. Like it knows some hidden secret to me. How to unlock me and drive me insane.
With ease and expertise, he works me over, playing me like a fiddle, until I’m begging for him with a voice that doesn’t even sound like my own. “Please...inside me...please.”
Drowning in lust and impatience, I grab at his jeans, but he smacks my hand away. Overcome with more sensations that I can bear, I close my eyes and fall back on the table, writhing like I’m on fire, burning, arms above my head. “Torin,please.”
“Jesus…” he hisses, almost in reverence. “…look at you.”
At the tantalizing sound of his zipper being undone, my heartbeat races, anticipation swirling in my belly.
When I feel his fingers dig into my thigh, I lick my lips and roll my hips, readying myself.
And then…he’s inside me. One thrust and I erupt, my walls clenching around him as I comeso much harderthan I did last night.
I’m maddened. Driven off a cliff and I just keep falling and falling and falling and falling.
“Fuck—wait—dammit,” Torin curses and grips me firmly as if to keep me from bucking myself off the table. “Ly…”
My orgasm goes on for what feels like forever, tossing me this way and that, before it finally floats away from me like a spirit leaving a body. Leaving me lax and near lifeless.
“You good?” There’s amusement in his voice, but I’m too high on him to care.
In answer, I roll my hips.
Seemingly fine with my method of response, he hooks my thighs in the crook of his elbows, and then, he fucks me. Not with the slow, gentle sexiness of the night before, but in the way that fits who he is—exactly how I’d initially imagined he’d be. Confident, assured, daring, unapologetic, without caution.
And. I.Love. it.
Every thrust, every stroke, every pause, every switch. And when he reaches the pinnacle, he slams into me with reckless abandon and growls my name to the ceiling like it’s a curse, throat bared.
Unable to help it, I fall right over the edge with him, gripping onto nothing but air as I shudder around him.
