Page 62 of Empire

I step into the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Something like that,” I mutter before biting the inside of my cheek and letting my gaze drop to his shoulder again. “How’s it feeling?”

He gives me a blank stare. “Like someone shot me.”

My gaze drops, guilt brimming in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I know you didn’t ask for this. If it weren’t for me, you never would have gotten hurt.”

Easton laughs and gives the slightest lift of his chin. “Come here,” he says, sitting up in his bed and putting a lot of effort into making it look as though the movement doesn’t pain him.

Striding across the room, I drop my ass on the edge of his bed, but he reaches for me and curls his strong arm around my waist, hauling me up onto his lap with my knees on either side of his strong thighs. I pause, staring at his gorgeous face. We don’t have a relationship like this. We have nasty comments and broodiness, but certainly not intimacy. And this right here . . . well, shit. This feels intimate.

His hand drops to my thigh, pushing higher until it’s right up at my hip. “You don’t need to apologize for me getting shot,” he tells me. “In my line of . . . work, getting shot at is just part of the territory. It happens more often than not.”

Reaching forward, I brush my fingers over the bandage before letting them linger on his warm chest. “I don’t like it.”

His intense stare meets mine, and I suck in a breath as his hand travels higher, slipping up to my waist and around my back. He pulls me in, rocking me forward so that my pussy grinds against his hardening cock. “Nobody said you had to,” he murmurs, his lips barely a breath from mine.

I crave his touch, his kiss, but he doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he lets the tension grow, desire building deep inside of me. “You have my drawing tattooed on your back,” I state, my tone low and breathy.

His eyes become hooded and my heart starts to race. “Couldn’t let such haunting beauty go to waste,” he says, taking my hips and rocking me back and forth.

My head tips back, pleasure building deep inside me as his words settle into my chest, not ready to start decoding the secret meaning of why he did it.

He reaches up, curling his fingers around my throat, his thumb stretching up to my jaw and forcing me to meet his eye. “You’re going to fuck me, Oakley,” he commands in that low, brassy tone, making butterflies swarm in my stomach. “Is that clear? I want you to take those fucking clothes off and sit that sweet little cunt on my cock. I wanna feel you ride me. I wanna feel you squeezing around me.”

Need floods me, and I grin down at him. “Oh, I don’t think you’re ready for me yet.”

“Really?” he questions, his brow arching as he slips his hand inside the waistband of my pants and finds me bare beneath. He cups my pussy and without warning, slides two thick fingers inside me. “Because it seems like you’re more than fucking ready for me.”

His fingers curl and massage inside me, and I grind down on them, the blissful pleasure already building. The need for him is like never before. His grip tightens on my throat, forcing me to meet his stare again. “Now, Oakley. Take those fucking clothes off and ride me.”

Oh lord, take the wheel.

The need to please him rocks through me. I grip the fabric of my shirt before peeling it over my head, feeling his heavy gaze lingering on my tits. Before he can do a damn thing, I raise my hips off him and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my pants to get rid of them, kicking them aside before lowering myself back on Easton.

His eyes blaze with hunger and I watch as he releases that thick, veiny cock from his pants. “Fucking ride me, Pretty,” he mutters. “Slide down on my cock, nice and slow. Let me feel how fucking warm you are.”

Fire burns through me as I move into position, feeling his tip at my entrance. I slowly begin to sink onto him, my gaze locked on his dark one. I take my time, feeling him stretching me, sinking lower and lower as our gazes remain locked, the intensity and tension growing rapidly between us.

He fills me to the brim, the growing hunger in his eyes only making me want to please him more. I start to rock my hips, my pussy grinding down against him. I move slow but purposefully, teasingly rising up only to instantly drop back down, my pussy clenching around him.

His fingers uncurl from my throat and sail down my body, brushing over my tits before dropping to my waist. He reaches around me, gripping my ass, and as his head tips back with undeniable pleasure, I feel like a fucking queen.

“Fuck yes, Pretty. Fuck me just like that.”

His words do wicked things to me, and I give it my all before reaching down between us and pressing my fingers to my clit. I rub tight circles over the aching bud, making my eyes flutter with a deep satisfaction. I watch as Easton’s gaze drops, watching just how I like it. “Fuck, that’s hot, Pretty,” he tells me. “Give me more.”

I do just that, lifting my hand and skimming my fingers over my tits, feeling my nipples harden beneath my touch. He groans and pulls me in, closing his mouth over my pebbled nipple, his tongue rolling over it as I cup the other, gently squeezing.

I find the perfect pace that sends us both into overwhelming fits of pleasure, and I feel that familiar tightening deep in my core. “Oh God,” I moan, riding him as though I’ll never experience something so brutally raw and pleasurable again.

He sits back, one hand on my hip as the other reaches to his bedside table, his fingers curling around a small black object. I think nothing of it until he opens it, and I realize it’s a pocketknife. I falter, pausing as I look at it with nervousness. “Don’t fucking stop,” he warns me in that silky tone that has me picking up my pace again. “Keep going.”

I keep my eye on the black blade, the anticipation building in my chest. But I don’t dare stop, keeping both of us right on the edge. I fuck him harder, his sharp hiss of breath only spurring me on as I feel my orgasm ready to take me higher.

I ride and grind, and as Easton lowers the blade to my thigh, I suck in a breath. “Keep moving, Pretty,” he says with a grunt, clenching his jaw as he gets closer to the edge. “Don’t fucking stop.”

The blade cuts into my thigh, and a sharp squeak tears from the back of my throat. “Don’t focus on the pain,” he says, thrusting his hips, his cock driving deeper into me. “Focus on the pleasure.”

Letting out a breath, I take my mind away from the blade and focus on the feel of his cock deep inside me, stretching me wide and sending me into a world full of bliss. The blade sails down my thigh, biting into my skin, an inch, maybe two, and I use that pain to fuel my pleasure. Blood seeps from the cut, trailing down my leg and making a mess in his sheets, but he doesn’t stop. And I realize I don’t want him to.

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