Page 28 of Wild Card
“Fuck I’m close, sweetheart. I need you on the bed. I want to feel you come with me.”
After another few moments of her torturing me before she pulls away, teasing the underside of my cock before she releases me, she lets go. She looks up at me with her swollen pink lips wet and her cheeks flushed from the exertion of sucking me off. She runs her hands down her thighs as she stands, a playful grin on her face.
She walks to the bed and bends over it, spreading her legs, and then glances back over her shoulder at me. She waits patiently while I grab a condom and watch her.
“This how you want it?” I run my hand over her ass when I get back to her.
“Yes.”
I rub the side of her left hip and push on the back of her thigh.
“This leg up on the bed. You want it deep; I’ll give it to you.” I motion to it, and she follows my direction. “Good… just like that.”
I run the backs of my fingers down her spine before I grab her soft round hip with one hand and guide my cock inside her with the other. She moans when I start to move, and my eyes are fixed on the spot where I slide inside her. She’s so wet and perfectly tight, desperate for my cock with the way she pushes back against me.
“Fuck. You’re so good,” she murmurs into the comforter as she buries her face in it.
“Yeah? Better than that fucker in the elevator would have been.” A flash of her eyes wide and her mouth parted, looking at him while I touched her comes to mind, and I hate it. Which is entirely new for me and a little bit frightening.
“Yes. Better than any—” She moans before she can finish the last of her words, but I know what she means.
The admission goes straight to my cock and my ego, and I start to take her harder and faster. Wanting to make her fall apart and give her everything she gives me. It feels like more than just the sum of its parts with her—that she’s willing to be vulnerable for me. Willing to try new things. So trusting that she’ll let me film her on her knees.
“So close…” Another soft plea from her that makes me want to give her anything she wants.
“Come all over my cock dirty girl. I want to feel how much you love it.”
She comes hard a moment later, begging me to go harder on her, and the sound of her moaning and whimpering makes it so I can’t hold back any longer either. I grab her hair and pull her up, biting down on the side of her neck right where it meets her shoulder as I come. She gasps at the sensation before she begs for it on the other side. I give her what she wants while I massage her clit, taking her to the edge again now that we know she can—for me.
“Tobias… oh my god. Please.” She whimpers and I drag one last wave out of her before we both collapse.
“Scarlett, fuck sweetheart… You wear me out.” I run my fingers over her stomach and she offers up a small satisfied smile in return.
“You sound surprised.” She raises a brow.
“A little. You always seemed so quiet before. When you weren’t ripping my head off anyway.” I grin at her.
“You bring out the worst in me I guess.”
“Yeah well, I think I like your worst.” I kiss her.
She laughs and kisses me back. “Okay. Shower and then sleep?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
My heart is still pounding in my chest when I watch her get up. Half because she is a fucking workout and half because she makes me feel things I’m not sure I can even put a name to yet.
SEVENTEEN
Scarlett
I wakeup in the middle of the night and sit up, the moon coming in through the window, and looking outside I see other high rises glowing with the reflection of the moon. It takes me a second to remember where I am and remind myself this isn’t a dream. I’ve just managed to fall asleep in Westfield’s bed instead of leaving like I should have.
I glance over to see his side of the bed empty and cold. I wonder if he already left. I glance at the time, pulling my phone over to get a closer look at it. It’s 3:30 a.m. and I groan inwardly. I should have left after the sex. Now I’ll have to creep out in the middle of the night or lay here for another hour or two until it’s acceptably “morning” and get a car home.
But first I need a bathroom. I look up and see the door’s ajar and dark, further evidence he’s probably gone. I still hurry in and close it behind me, quickly using it to freshen up—splashing water on my face and finger-combing my hair. I look exactly like I feel. Well-fucked but not completely well-rested.
I need to resume my job search later in the morning, but I can at least sleep in for a while once I get home. This late-night hookup thing with Westfield can’t last for a number of reasons, but one of them is the fact that thirty is also apparently the age when not getting enough rest is going to catch up with me. I freshen up and try to pull myself together before I hit the light and start to tiptoe back to the bedroom to gather my clothes.
