Panic mounted when he kept his fingers locked, trapping her body beneath his weight. She wanted him to stop squeezing so hard, her throat was closing over, her breathing constrained.
“Stop!” she gasped, grappling with his hand to release the pressure and digging her nails into his skin.
Suddenly, his firm grip released, and his curious dark gaze was met with a roguish smile. She lay there, a little shocked and unsure but allowed him to continue thrusting until he finally groaned with a satisfying climax.
Her arousal had shrivelled up and died the instant his fingers had dug into her windpipe and his face contorted with pleasure.
Shoving him to the floor, she scrambled to find her bottoms. “What the fuck was that, Rory?”
He lay on the soft shaggy avocado rug, his eyes closed with a wide contented grin on his face. “It was just a bit of play, babe.”
Chucking his towel over him. “Well, I don’t like that shit, Rory. You don’t even know what you’re doing. It’s dangerous.” She stepped into her pyjama’s and covered herself quickly.
Rory dragged the towel away from his hairless torso and propped himself up his elbow. “I wasn’t actually going to strangle you, babe. You’re such a prude,” he said with a chuckle.
Lana stormed out of the living room and stomped up the stairs. “Fuck you!” she yelled. “If you try that again, I’ll knee you in the balls.”
She could count the amount of partners on one hand, and granted they hadn’t been exhilarating or adventurous, but she was no killjoy. She wanted to have fun just as much as him, to feel the adrenaline of dirty sex.
Anger bubbled through her veins like hot lava. To hell with Rory for calling her a prude, and to hell with Marcus for not fucking her.
Next time, she won’t hold back.