Page 18 of Wicked Temptations
But fuck if it wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
“Tell me if you don’t want this,” Ash said, and his voice was wrecked. “Tell me right now.”
“I want it. Stop talking and—”
He bit down on my throat, hitting the same tender spot as moments ago, and I forgot how to finish the sentence.
I heard his zipper open and then the gargled sound of him spitting into his hand.
Fuck.
He pinned me there by the back of my neck as he worked me open with nothing more than his spit on his fingers, and I bit down on my forearm to stay quiet because the sounds I was making were obscene. Ash had a second finger inside before I’d even stopped gasping over the first. He showed no mercy as he scissored, stretching me with just the slick of his saliva. It burned in the best way possible, making my thighs shake and my cock drip against the wall.
He pinned me there so easily. Despite my height, despite my thinking I had the upper hand, Ash was all muscle and strength when he wanted to be. His chest pressed against my back, his breath hot on my neck, and I was completely trapped between him and the wall. Helpless. The realization made my cock throb.
His fingers withdrew, and I heard him spit again. Then a groan that went straight through me, deep and ragged. I could picture it without seeing it. Ash stroking himself with his own spit, getting his cock slick enough to fuck me in a dark corridor like we were animals.
Christ.
His hand moved to the back of my head, pushing my cheek flat against the concrete. The other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my hole, and then he was pushing inside.
The burn was immediate and overwhelming. Too much, too fast, not enough lube, but I didn’t care. I wanted it to be rough. I felt it everywhere, a fullness that made my knees go weak and caused me to pant against the wall.
It wasn’t until he shuffled forward to get deep leverage that the rational part of my mind acknowledged what we were doing. There was nothing between us. No condom.
The realization hit me through the haze of pleasure. Ash was taking me raw, skin on skin, and I should care about that. I should have stopped him and thought rationally about safety and consequences.
But his hips pressed flush against my ass and fucked upwards, forcing himself even deeper, and rational thought dissolved like sugar in water.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “How long has it been?”
I couldn’t answer. I could barely breathe with how full I felt, how right it was despite being completely wrong. My pants bit into my thighs where they were bunched just below my ass, keeping my legs close together when I desperately wanted to spread them wider.
He pulled back and slammed in hard, and the sound I made was mortifying.
“Answer me.”
“Years,” I gasped out. “Five years, maybe six. I don’t bottom; I don’t—”
“You do now.” His hand wrapped around my throat from behind, possessive and claiming, and it was all I could do to nod.
Ash rolled his hips again, and I saw stars.
I’d never been a fan of bottoming. The whole concept went against everything I needed. Control slipping through my fingers, being open and exposed while someone else set the pace. It was too vulnerable and made me feel weak in ways I couldn’t stand.
I liked being in charge. I always had.
But then Ash snapped his hips forward, driving deep, and the angle sent lightning up my spine. My legs went weak, my visionwent white, and a sound ripped out of me that I’d never heard myself make before.
Oh.
He did it again, and I fell apart completely.
There was something about being pinned here, about having no control over the rhythm or the depth or anything at all. Something about letting him take what he wanted while giving me exactly what I needed. The powerlessness didn’t feel weak. It felt like relief.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “More. I need more.”
He gave it to me. No mercy or gentleness, just exactly what I’d been asking for without knowing how to voice it.
