“I have and I will.” There’s a desperate madness to my actions. I should let her go. I know I should, but I can’t, not when I know how little time we have. “You’re not going anywhere, Rachel. You’re going to stay here and I’m going to make you come, over and over, with my hands and my mouth, and then I’ll fuck you properly just to remind you that when you’re with me, there’s no room for him.”
“Why are you so concerned about him?” Her voice is tinged with frustration and anger, and the first signs of arousal. “Why do you care so much?”
“Why?” I lift her face to mine so she can see the determination in my eyes. With my free hand, I gather her dress up and slide my fingers between her thighs. “Because right now, you’re mine.”
Her legs spread for me. In this one thing, we speak the exact same language. I stroke her through her panties and her hips grind softly.
“I’m not yours,” she hisses through her teeth.
“Aren’t you?” Moving the lace aside, I slide my fingers slide between her smooth folds. “You’re so turned on,” I whisper. For me. All for me. I push my fingers into her, and she makes a soft sound of pleasure.
Impatiently, I unfasten her dress and tug it down with my free hand. Her strapless bra follows, and her breasts spring free. At the sight of her hard, pink nipples, acute desire almost blinds me.
Her slick muscles clasp hotly around my fingers, demanding more. “Does he make you feel like this?” I take her nipple in my mouth and she lets out a moan. “Does he make you so hungry to fuck even when you know you should be angry?”
“Maybe he does.” Her voice is breathless. “Maybe I’m thinking about him right now.”
She’s lying. I can see that, but the knowledge doesn’t stop the possessive anger from rising inside me.
“You don’t mean that.” My voice is a warning.
“Don’t I?” Her mocking laughter rings in my ears. “Maybe you think you’re the only one who’s allowed to be an ass.”
A measure of sanity returns. I release her and put some distance between us. She hates me now, and she has every right to. Even I hate myself for ruining any chance we may have had for something more than a temporary week of meaningless sex.
She’s glaring at me, making no move to cover her naked breasts, which are heaving with every furious breath. She’s flushed with a mixture of anger and arousal, but I can’t touch her, not now. Not after everything we’ve said to each other.
With a few jerky movements, she tears off her dress, bundling it into a huge ball before hurling it at my face.
“Fuck you,” she spits.
Something snaps inside me, and I know without a doubt that I will regret whatever I do from here on, but there’s only one way this argument can end, and I’m sure we both know it. Barely thinking, I grab hold of her waist and bend her over the back of the sofa. “I already said I was going to,” I snarl, close to her ear.
It only takes me a moment to free my cock, and then I’m entering her. Her body opens smoothly to give me access. I don’t try to be gentle. It’s not what I need, and it’s not what she wants either.
I fuck her hard, and her moans stoke the fire of lust, anger, and frustration that’s already burning inside me. My fingers twine in her hair, and I nudge her head to face me.
“Look at me,” I growl. “I want you to be sure who’s fucking you right now.”
A soft cry escapes her parted lips. Her eyes glaze further with each thrust of my hips. I’m done fighting, and so is she, and I can feel it when she surrenders.
Her voice is a soft moan. “Don’t stop.”
Like I could. When I’m with her, I can barely function. All I want is to lose myself in her body.
I run my hands down her back, cupping one of her breasts, squeezing. “You like it.” My voice is a plea. “Don’t you?”
“I love it.”
My fingers dig into her skin. I lose control over my movements as I plunge deep inside her, over and over. Pleasure seizes my brain. I hear her scream out her climax. I feel her body pulsing around me, tight and sweet, and I surrender everything just as the world explodes.
I don’t want to let her go. I hold her trembling body close to mine, burying my face in her hair. I feel humble. I want to cry, to beg. Surely, it’s only an effect of the sex. It must be.
“Rachel. God, Rachel.” Her name is a plea on my lips. “You have no idea how you make me feel…no idea how crazy you make me.” The memory of all the rough words I said to her ea
rlier makes me cringe. That’s not a part of me I ever want her to see. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes meet mine, wary and hurt, but she doesn’t reply.