Despite everything, I want him. And despite what I tell myself, a part of me needs him. Even as I acknowledge my craving, his hold loosens. I’m already admitting my defeat as he prepares to let me go.
Surprising myself, I take the plunge. Hooking one leg around his thigh, I rub the length of my body against him. It’s as if a switch flips inside him. He goes from passive to predator in a second flat, palming my ass and yanking me closer. He lifts my other leg around his waist and grabs a glute in each hand to balance me as he sits back down on the bed. He brushes his hands up my ribs under my T-shirt and cups my breasts. My nipples harden. Dragging his palms in circular movements over the tips, he stimulates me lightly while darkness consumes his eyes.
“Touch me,” he orders.
I slip a hand between our bodies and move the elastic of his briefs down to free his cock. Wrapping my fingers around him, I squeeze. He utters a groan, pushing himself harder against my palm. His warm, velvet flesh is rock hard. He smooths his hands down my stomach and grabs the elastic of my shorts. I lift my hips to make it easier for him to pull it over my hips.
“Stand up,” he says, offering me a hand for balance.
When I’ve complied, he pushes the shorts and my underwear to my ankles and frees my feet one by one. He flicks the garments aside, his eyes burning on my face before he lowers his gaze and fixes it between my legs.
My cheeks heat as he studies me, but the lust that burns in his eyes gives me power. I pull off my T-shirt and let it drop on the bed. Underneath, I’m naked. Tugging on my hand, he coaxes me onto my knees. My heart drums in my chest when he pushes his briefs lower. He fastens his hands on my hips and pulls me down on top of him so that his cock rests against my folds, parting them when he drags me up and down over his length. My arousal lubricates us and aids his movement. Heat builds between my legs and spreads through my body.
He watches me intently, his eyes tight with concentration. He’s not only reading the signs of my body, but he’s also enjoying the show. My desire must show on my face. The pleasure is too strong to hide.
A moan escapes my lips when he angles my body to rub the crest of his cock over my clit. He’s quickly bringing me to a crescendo. I’m not going to last, but I’m guessing that’s not his objective. We’re not making sweet, passionate, drawn-out love. He’s just getting me off to sate a physical need.
Our rocking is synchronized, a lazy pace that belies the palpable urgency in the air. My breaths come faster. His jaw is locked tight. I’m close. I’m already regretting the end before we’ve finished. I don’t want to come like this.
I grip his shoulders for balance. “Leon, please.”
More heat sparks in his eyes. “Please, what?”
He’s making me beg, but I’ve sunk too low to be ashamed about going down on my knees. “I need you inside me.”
His fingers tighten on my hips. “You sure about that, darling?”
He’s been inside me. He’s not asking for my permission. He’s asking me to admit that I want him.
The truth isn’t easy to acknowledge, but that’s the price he’s demanding in return for my release. “Yes.”
He lifts me to my knees and grabs the root of his cock. Studying my face, he places the crest at my opening and lowers me slowly over him. The stretch makes my toes curl. My lips part in ecstasy. Satisfaction washes over his features. He angles his hips and moves, hitting a sensitive spot inside. I gasp as he slides all the way in. When he pulls out and sets a faster pace, my back arches from the friction.
I don’t need the manipulation of his hands to follow his lead. I find my rhythm and meet his thrusts as they turn more impatient. He feels good inside me. It’s neither the angry sex of the first night he brought me to his house, nor the degrading sex of our wedding night, but it’s filled with resentment and bitterness no less. I’m filled with him, and yet I’ve never felt emptier.
My climax is building, but I need more. Leaning forward, I aim for his lips, needing a little gentleness, even if it’s from my enemy, but before I can press my lips to his, he grabs my hair in a ponytail and yanks my head back.
“Morning breath,” he grunts.
The rejection stings. It’s irrational. It’s only a kiss. However, I instinctively sense his refusal to kiss me goes deeper.
Closing his fingers in my hair, he holds me in place while he slips a hand between our bodies. Another gasp escapes my lips when he touches my clit. He rubs in a circle, bringing me closer to the edge.
“Touch your tits,” he commands.
Letting go of his shoulders creates more distance between us. Eliminating another point of contact leaves me colder still, but I do as he orders and give him the performance he wants by rolling my nipples before pushing my curves together.
“Jesus, Violet.” He slams his hips up hard. “You’re dangerous. Perfect.”
The words don’t fill the hollow in my chest. It caves out, creating a void when he fucks me harder while pressing the pad of his thumb on my clit.
The relentless pressure pushes me to breaking point. My body bows as my orgasm rips like a furious tide through me. He pumps faster, making me ride out the aftermath in an intense but quick battle. My muscles go slack even before he finds his own release. He keeps me up by my hair, watching the portrait of my naked body and the feelings I can’t keep from showing on my face as he punches his hips one last time before stilling.
Unlike me, he holds tightly to his pleasure. The only sound he makes is a grunt. His body pulls taut as he empties himself inside me, every hard muscle locked in place. His eyes give away nothing except for the victory of knowing he effectively triggered my climax.
I only register the bite of pain on my scalp when he lets go of my hair. The tears that gather in my eyes aren’t from the physical discomfort. They come from somewhere deeper, from a place inside me where Leon will never reach, not because I won’t let him but because he made sure to lock me out. What did I expect? That he’d trust me and shower me with affection? No. What he just gave is the most I’ll ever get.
Cupping my cheek, he wipes away a tear that has slipped free. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head.
He sits up, pushing our chests together. The heat from his skin is like a magnet. I lean toward it, lapping it up like a frozen person would search the sun. He wraps his arms around me and drags his nose over my neck, but the hug only lasts for a second before he stands with me in his arms.
Not saying a word, he walks us to the bathroom. When he lets me down in the shower and finally pulls out, the evidence of what we’ve done runs down my inner thighs. He turns on the water, lets it run warm, and washes my body with meticulous but clinical attention, paying special care to cleaning between my legs.
After rinsing the soap from our bodies, he hands me a towel and grabs one for himself.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he says, “I got you an appointment at Inked on Saturday.”
“Oh.” I secure the ends of the towel between my breasts. “Wow. Thank you.”