Page 40 of Wrapped Up In You
I chuckled, taking the guitar from him and turning toward the entrance, tugging him behind me. “I’ve heard him fucking his fiancée at all hours. Neither of them is quiet about it. It’ll be fine.”
We’d only made it a few steps when he dug his heels in and pulled to a stop. I turned to look at him. “I don’t know if I can…performwith people in the next room.” The crease between his brows was adorable.
“Ah. A challenge. I like a challenge.”
I tugged his hand again, dragging him up the stairs to my third-floor apartment. I pushed through the door, immediately spotting my roommate and his fiancée cuddled up on the couch.
“Hey, guys. This is my boyfriend, Jonathan.” I gestured toward the couch. “This is Sean and Frannie.” All parties gave an awkward wave, eyes wide as they took stock of each other. “We’re going to go fuck now,” I said as I tugged a groaning Lucy down the hall toward my room at the back of the apartment.
“Hey, isn’t he your…?” Sean called out.
“Yep,” I said, without turning back. We crossed into my room, and I set my guitar down, then shut the door, pushing him against it.
I plastered myself to him, shoving my knee between his legs and pressing my cock against his hip, grinding against him obscenely. I pushed my hand up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin. “Damn, Lucy. Your skin is so cold.” I added my other hand, pushing up his sweater so I could feel him with both hands. He obliged me by removing the sweater completely, and I took advantage, diving in to run the flat of my tongue across one pebbled nipple. He moaned, yanking at my hair as I nipped and sucked at him.
Abruptly, he yanked my head back, shoving me away from him. “On the bed.”
Oh. Fuck.
“It’s like that, huh? I like it when bossy Jonathan comes out to play.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He shoved me back another step, fire in his eyes. “And I told you to call me Lucy.”
Goddamn. I stepped back, tripping over a pair of shoes and nearly landing hard on my ass. I started to take off my pants, but his voice stopped me. “I didn’t tell you to strip. Just get on the bed.”
My cock was painfully hard, straining against the fly of my work pants, but I did as he asked, lying on my back, watching as he stalked toward me like a tiger on the prowl. He stepped over the pair of shoes I’d nearly tripped on, stopping when his legs met the edge of the bed. I squirmed under the intensity of his gaze, wondering what he was going to do next.
Whatever it was, I was here for it. This bossy take-no-shit side of him was hot as fuck.
He bent over and removed my shoes, untying each one slowly before removing them. My socks followed next, and then he leaned over the bed, unbuttoned my pants, and slowly lowered my zipper.
He continued in this manner, moving methodically and without haste, never saying a word. It took every bit of my self-control not to speak—part of me wanted to flip him some shit, just to see what he’d do—but I also wanted to see how it would play out if I gave him complete control.
He leaned forward and buried his nose in my groin, nuzzling the juncture of my thigh and my sack. The feel of his scruff—more a beard at this point—rubbing against the skin of my inner thigh had me arching my neck, a strangled groan wrenched from my lips.
He eased my pants down, his tongue following a path from my waistband to my ankles, sending goosebumps skittering across my bare skin. I wiggled and squirmed, my entire existence narrowed to his assault on my senses.
He tapped my thigh. “Flip over.”
My eyes popped open—I hadn’t even realized they were shut. “What?”
“Flip over. On your belly.”
My eyes widened, but I hastened to comply, flipping myself onto my stomach. I heard the sound of a zipper, followed by the sound of something—I was hoping his jeans—dropping to the floor. I only had a moment to register the feel of his breath on the back of my thigh before he sank his teeth into my ass, biting hard enough through the fabric of my red-and-green plaid briefs that I was fairly sure there’d be a mark tomorrow. I fucking loved it. Loved the idea of him marking me.
“God, I love this ass.” He bit the other cheek, and I pushed back into his face in reflex. He snagged a finger under my waistband and pulled, drawing the fabric below the curve.
“Hips up, ass in the air,” he said, pulling my underwear down, my cock springing free beneath me. A string of precum stretched from the tip of my aching dick to the fabric of my bedspread as I got on all fours with my ass in the air.
Despite my resolve to let him have control, I quipped, “So much for being unable to perform.” I’d never been very good at controlling my mouth, and I paid for it when a loud crack echoed in the room, his hand connecting with my flesh. My cock jumped in response, even as I bit down on my pillow to keep from crying out. His tongue replaced the spot he’d just smacked, soothing the sting yet somehow sending my lust skyrocketing. I transferred my weight to one hand so I could stroke my aching cock with the other, but Jonathan wasn’t having it. He batted my hand away, yanking it back down to the bed.
“Not yet.”
“C’mon, Lucy,” I whined. “I’m dying.”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
I groaned as I realized this was retaliation for not freeing him from his shirt last night. The bastard was going to torture me three times worse than I’d tortured him.
