Page 52 of Sweeper
“Holy shit,” I bark out unattractively as I grip the footboard for support. Zander is moving so fast, so recklessly, and without abandon, it’s sending my body into overdrive. The pressure building in my core is so intense, my legs tremble uncontrollably as my senses take over.
Without warning, I start to spasm under his firm grip, and the concentrated look in his eyes as he watches himself pound into me is so erotic, I begin to lose myself.
“Zander, I’m going to…”
My voice is cut off because he moves his hand between my legs and presses his thumb to the hood of my clit. He slides it back and forth rapidly, and an orgasm hits me with such unbridled violence, I nearly buck him away.
But his hold is strong, and he’s not done. He’s still pounding relentlessly into me, and when he brings his thumb that was just touching me to his lips and sucks on it, I think that I must be in the middle of the dirtiest sex dream of my life because this cannot be real.
I’m jostled when he pulls out of me and flips me onto my back. I hold my breath high in my lungs as he spreads my legs and drops to his knees. His lips and tongue are now assaulting my sex, and my body feels like it could crawl out of its skin. It’s all coming so fast, so hard, so frantic. He shakes his head from side to side, savagely feasting on me as his fingers dig into the meat of my thighs. The noises he makes vibrate through my core, and I feel as if I’ve been launched into another dimension. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath, to catch my mind, my heart…all of it is gone, emptied to the depths of my dancing vagina that’s gearing up for another…
“Not again…” I croak as the release hits me like a sharp branding iron, and I scream out, “Zander!”
He moans his approval into my sex, lapping at my sensitive nub as I shudder and go limp beneath him. He stands to push back inside me. His cock is still gloriously hard as he holds himself up over top of me and pumps with a smooth, sultry rhythm. I try to lift my head off the bed to kiss him, but every ounce of muscle is drained from my body, and my sex seems to be the only thing left as it pulses between my legs with its own bloody heartbeat.
Zander’s eyes are trained on me, but I can barely see past the stars dancing in my vision. “Do you want to taste yourself, Daphney?” he asks, his voice husky as he licks his moist lips.
I nod and find the strength to reach up and grab his neck. I pull him down to my lips, and he swirls his tongue deep into my mouth. He tastes naughty and sensual, and the entire act has my pelvis greedily grinding up to meet his thrusts. A third orgasm approaches, and I can’t even believe it’s possible.
How did I live my entire life, never realizing this was what I was missing? How will I live my entire life, potentially never having this again? That thought causes a pang fear to surge through me, and it’s apparently triggered a domino effect because the next thing I know, I’m toppling over the cliff for the third time.
I cry out as Zander pushes through my trembling aftershocks. It feels like I’m practically milking him, and I fear he’s going to try to make me come again, and I’m not sure my body will survive another.
Finally, he lets out a frustrated growl, and when I see his jaw go taut and his arms turn to rock-hard boulders around me, I exhale with relief. Seconds later, he expels a savage groan and freezes as he releases inside me.
With a huff, he drops onto my body, and the dead weight of him is like a delicious, weighted blanket I’d love to own.
Finally, he comes to and glances down at me with a smug look I’m surprised he has the energy to express. “See? I’m not bad at sex.”
His comment causes a confused jolt to shoot through me as he rolls off and stands, giving me a perfect view of his sculpted arse as he walks toward my loo.
“What did you just say?” I prop myself up on my elbows and watch his profile through the open bathroom door as he discards the condom and washes his face and hands in my sink.
He wipes his hands with a towel and turns to prop himself in my doorway. He quirks a pleased brow. “I showed you, didn’t I?”
“Showed me what?” I sit up and push my tousled hair out of my face.
“That I’m a good lay.”
My body tightens. “Who said you were a bad one?”
He laughs and shakes his head as he returns to stand in front of me. He grabs his boxers off the floor and pulls them on. “No one. Ever. That’s why I had to prove it to you.”
Frowning, I grab my robe off my bedpost and slip it on, cinching it tight around my waist as I stare back at him. “Zander, what are you going on about?”
He hits me with a flat look. “I could tell the other night you weren’t impressed. Which is really unfair because I’d just finished playing ninety minutes of soccer. What did you expect of me? It’s fucked up, ye know. Women get mad at men for being misogynists, but one mediocre performance, and you’re ready to write a dude off. It’s a double standard, Ducky. I expected better of you.”
“Zander, I swear on my life I have no clue what you’re going on about.” I stand and stop him from putting on his shirt because I need to understand what he’s saying.
He narrows his eyes on me. “Just admit that you sent me packing the other night because you thought I was a bad lay.”
“I never said that!”
“I can read between the lines,” he volleys back at me. “Although I’m surprised I had to. You don’t strike me as a girl who can’t be honest with a dude.”
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling properly annoyed now because he’s assassinating my character for all the wrong reasons. “You think I wanted you to leave the other night because you were bad at sex?”
“Yup, which is why I had to prove you wrong.” He mirrors my stance and cocks his chin. “I can’t have my street cred tainted because of one lackluster performance.”
