Page 3 of Inconvenient Marriage
Maybe she is. Maybe she’s a good girl who isn’t made for wild bathroom sex in a dirty bar. Maybe?—
She shoves my chest again, stronger than I expect. I have no choice but to drop down on the toilet seat, cock pointing straightto the ceiling, I’m that fucking hard. She grips me, replacing my rough stroke with one so incredibly soft yet possessive, I ‘ve got to flex my ass cheeks to keep from spilling all over her hand.
“Yes,” she whispers. “This is exactly what I need.”
I reach up, fisting her hair. Staying seated because, damn it, that’s where she put me, I yank her down to me, stealing another kiss from those luscious lips. I’m probably smudging her lipstick all over my face, but I could give a shit. She tastes too damn good not to enjoy her mouth.
I want to enjoy hereverywhere.
She doesn’t want to play, though. Oh, no. With my pants already down, she reaches for her own button.
Okay. Yeah. We’re definitely doing this, and I can think of a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t, but with my cock in control, the only thing I’m thinking about now is working it inside of… of…
I untangle my fingers from her hair, cupping the back of her neck for a second to catch her attention.
When I have it, I ask, “What’s your name?”
It’s a pant. A moan.
Ademand… and one my pretty brunette outright refuses.
“Not tonight,” she whimpers. “No names tonight… just this.”
So tomorrow morning, then? I have no doubt in my mind that she has to know who I am. Everyone in Harmony Heights knows the train wreck that is Sebastien Reynolds, whether they’re in the Order or not. Sackerville is different but, then again, so is she. I’ve just got that certain kind of reputation; the same reputation that led this beauty to accept what I was offering her, confident that I’ll bang her in this bathroom. I doubt she’s Order-affiliated—not a Used or an Offering, either—but if all she wants is to fuck some other guy out of her head, well… I’d hate to disappoint.
No names. Fair enough.
“Then I’ll call you ‘love,” I tease, tugging on her jeans, desperate to get them off of her, “and, for tonight, I’ll be yours.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and for the next few minutes, that’s all either of us says.
Once I have her jeans down around her ankles, she kicks them, allowing her to climb up on top of my lap. Part of me expected her to ride me cowgirl-style, back to my front so that she could get all of the pleasure of fucking me without the intimacy of looking into my face.
Like I said, I know what I look like. Delicate boyish features that don’t belong on a man my age, though they definitely work to attract women. Pouty lips. A sharp jaw and soft cheeks. Eyes that one of the Used told me looked like melted chocolate, and dark blond hair that looks pretty damn good even after a fifteen-mile ride.
But if you look closer, there are the marks I’ve worked hard to earn over the years. There’s a divot missing in one cheek. When I was twenty, I broke my nose twice in the same year, and now it has a slight crook to it. Some wannabe Order member pulled a knife on me, nearly taking out one of my eyes after he found out I fucked his girl. She was a Used. That’s what they’re there for. To pleasure the Owed… it was his fault for getting into a relationship with one of the Used without giving her a ring. The only way out of that life is to get married—preferably to an Order member back in Jack Collins’s days—and they were barely dating. Of course I fucked her. Hell, she requested me when I visited the backroom of the Court so obviously I was in the right.
When I got him on his back and slit his throat during the fight, blood dripping into my eye because he missed, poor bastard learned that the hard way.
I’m not an Order enforcer, but I learned long ago to fight back. Half the time, I fightfirst.My lifestyle means that I’m usedto women falling for my looks before they see the truth of who Bas Reynolds really is.
I expect her to keep that element of anonymity—and I’m wrong. Instead of just wanting a man to fuck the memory of another out of her head, she climbs on top of me, locking faces as she throws one arm around my neck.
The other hand goes to my erection. With her legs straddling me, spread out over my lap, she guides me into her before sinking all the way down on top of me. I grit my teeth, eyes nearly rolling back into my skull as her tight pussy squeezes me.
She holds onto me like she’s trying to crawl into my skin and outrun whatever memory she brought with her. And when she starts to move, slowly riding me once she adjusts to the way that I’ve filled her up, I have the sudden urge to clutch her to me and never let her go.
She’s wonton. That’s the only way to describe her. I’m grunting, she’s panting, and she throws her second arm around my neck, burying my face in her chest.
I suck on her tit through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. I leave wet circles, turning the material see-through, as she tugs on my hair, gasping for breath. My hands go to her waist again. I don’t want to move that much, afraid my bare ass will slip off the slick, porcelain toilet seat, but I use my strength to lift her, helping her bounce up and down on top of me.
I don’t even need to. She fucks me like a woman possessed, as though she’s searching for something she hopes she can find with me at the Last Prayer.
“Easy, love…” I murmur against her throat, even as she arches into me like she wants me to mark her with my tongue, my teeth. “Slow down. Even if anyone comes in here, they won’t care about what we’re doing. There’s no rush.”
For me, maybe.
“No,” she breathes. “Don’t slow down. Don’t stop. Just keep…yes… just keep doingthat.”
