Page 24 of Roar Me Like You Mean It
“Yes.”
He pushes into my pussy in one smooth, relentless stroke, filling me completely. A sharp, breathless cry is torn from my throat. He stills, buried deep, letting me adjust to the overwhelming stretch.
Then he moves.
He sets a punishing rhythm from the start, each thrust a hard, driving claim. The bedframe groans in protest. I claw at his back, my nails digging into the muscles working beneath hisskin. He shifts, hooking one of my legs over his arm, opening me up wider, sinking deeper. The angle is exquisite, a relentless friction that has me arching off the bed.
He lowers his lips to my breast, sucking hard, his tongue flicking over my nipple. The dual sensation is too much, a coil of pleasure tightening low in my belly. I’m already close, the adrenaline and the sheer physicality of him pushing me toward the edge.
“Don’t stop,” I pant, my voice ragged. “God, don’t you dare stop.”
He’s moving inside me with a rhythm that’s turning my bones to liquid, a deep, steady pulse that’s building a fire in my core. I’m clutching at his shoulders, my breath coming in ragged gasps that match his thrusts. Just as I feel that perfect, tightening coil about to snap, he goes perfectly, utterly still.
A frustrated groan escapes me. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. He just pulls out of me, the sudden emptiness a shock. Before I can protest, his hands are on my hips. He slides down the bed, his breath warm on my inner thigh. His gaze is locked on me, intense and unwavering.
“Malek…”
His name is a plea on my lips. He answers it by lowering his mouth to my pussy.
His tongue is flat and hot, a slow, deliberate stroke from my entrance all the way up to my clit. I jolt, a sharp cry tearing from my throat. He holds my hips down, pinning me gently as he does it again. And again. He’s not rushing. He’s exploring me with a focused reverence, learning the shape and taste of me. He finds my clit and circles it with the very tip of his tongue, a soft, maddening pressure.
I’m writhing, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, not to push him away but to hold on. “Please.”
He hums against me, the vibration shooting straight through my nerves. He closes his lips around my clit and sucks, gently at first, then with more pressure. His tongue flicks over the sensitive spot again and again, a relentless, perfect rhythm. One of his hands slips down, two fingers sliding into my pussy, curling upward.
The combination is devastating. The coil inside me winds tighter, tighter, pulled taut by his mouth and his fingers. My back arches off the bed, a silent scream locked in my throat. The pleasure crests, breaks, and shatters through me in a wave of pure, blinding white. I cry out, my body shaking uncontrollably as he works me through it, his touch gentling until the last tremor subsides.
He moves back up my body, his skin hot against mine. His cock, still hard and slick from my own wetness, presses against my thigh. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips, a dark, intimate flavor.
“Again,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice thick with a need that mirrors my own.
I nod, my breath catching as he guides himself back to my entrance. He pushes inside, and this time there’s no resistance, just the perfect, full stretch of him. He groans, a raw, guttural sound that vibrates through my chest.
He starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that feels less like a claiming and more like a conversation. His hands slide under me, cupping my ass, tilting my hips to take him even deeper. Each thrust is a deliberate, measured thing, a world away from the frantic energy of before.
He shifts his weight, bracing himself on one arm so his other hand can roam. He traces the line of my jaw, my throat, before his palm slides down to cup my breast. His thumb strokes my nipple, and a fresh wave of heat floods my core.
His pace begins to quicken, the slow, deep strokes turning more urgent. The headboard starts a soft, rhythmic thud against the wall. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged on my skin.
“I’m close,” he grits out, the words strained.
His thrusts become shorter, harder, losing their rhythm as he chases his release. I hold him tighter, my own body tightening around him, pulling him over the edge with me.
He lets out a sharp, choked cry, his entire body going rigid above me. I feel the hot pulse of his come deep inside me, a final, shuddering claim. He collapses onto me, his full weight a warm, heavy comfort, his breath slowing against my neck.
He rolls off after a moment, pulling me against his side. My limbs feel like lead, my mind blissfully empty. The last thing I feel is his lips, soft against my temple, before the exhaustion pulls me under into a deep, dreamless sleep.
15
MALEK
The air is thick with her scent, clinging to the sheets, clinging to my skin, clinging to every breath I drag into my lungs until it feels like she has carved herself into me. The room hasn’t settled after what we did.
The silence is different now, heavier, not the emptiness I usually crave but a tension I cannot shake. The lion inside me is quiet for the first time in years, not because it has been subdued, but because it is satisfied. That should be a relief. Instead it terrifies me more than any battlefield ever has.
I move slowly across the length of the safehouse room, pacing like a caged animal. The floorboards creak softly under my weight, wood worn smooth by time, and the walls press in with their old stone, cold even though the fire I lit earlier still burns low in the hearth.
