I closed my eyes, embarrassment burning my cheeks, yet it wasn’t strong enough to let my desire dissipate.
When I turned and my eyes met his, I swallowed hard. Dark and beaming irises stared at me. “You want me to cut the bullshit, be straight with you, man to woman.” He slipped his cut off his arms, down his back. “Then let me show you exactly what kind of man I want to be when it comes to you. But a fair warning,” he pulled his shirt over his head, wild curls falling around his broad shoulders, “once I start, I’m not going to stop.”
9
Granite
I wasn’t lyingwhen I said I wasn’t a good man. The thought of letting her go had crossed my mind on more than one occasion—to set her free. But that thought always ended with me saying, “Fuck, no,” out loud. I couldn’t stomach the idea of not having her again. I had finally found the best high I had ever been on between her legs. For years, I sat in the shadows desiring her, hidden by the cloak of darkness and dreaming of the day I’d finally taste her. And now that I had found heaven between those thighs, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d give it up. Never.
I allowed my gaze to travel down her body, slowly, taking in every inch of her. From the way she shifted from one leg to the other, it was clear she felt uncomfortable under my penetrating stare, but I didn’t give a fuck. In fact, I loved it. I loved her shyness, her innocence—even after I’d already corrupted it once. Her innocence was the kind that couldn’t be destroyed, no matter how many times you tainted it. God knew I was willing to spend the rest of my miserable life trying. Ruining her innocence would be my biggest fucking accomplishment.
I unbuckled my belt, my gaze pinned on her tiny breasts. Her rosy nipples were hard, the small, rounded flesh begging to be palmed. Her stomach was flat—too flat, almost sinking in just above her hips. Jesus, my ballerina girl was wasting away. It was something I needed to fix once I was done getting my fill of her.
Dark curls had started to appear around her pussy, her legs slightly parted at the apex of her thighs. She might be underweight, but she still made my dick hard in a way no other woman ever had. And knowing I had been the only man to experience the paradise between her legs had me on the verge of turning savage.
I cut my gaze to hers, her cheeks a healthy, warm pink. “Ever since the day I took you, you hated me.”
She bit her lip.
“Yet you gave yourself to me once.”
She let go of her lip with a pop. “I once had this friend who called me a masochist.”
“Smart friend.”
“Smarter than me, yes. She never would have fallen for you.”
I slipped my jeans to the floor and stalked toward her. “Have you fallen for me?”
“Maybe.”
Her gaze dropped to my cock, bobbing and standing proud. Rock fucking hard for her.
“Stupid, naïve ballerina girl.”
Her chin lifted in defiance. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Yet here you are, naked, and practically dripping for me.”
“What gives you that idea?”
I grinned. “Because you smell like sex, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” I reached out, cupped her pussy, and watched as her mouth formed the perfect ‘o.’ She was so wet, I could easily slip a single digit through her inner lips, all the way from her clit to her entrance and back again.
Her moan was involuntary as a shudder wracked through her.
“You like that, don’t you? My touch.”
She didn’t answer me…at least not with her mouth. But her eyes spoke volumes, burning with a hunger I so easily recognized.
I smiled. “Your friend is right. You are a masochist, liking my touch so much.”
“I wonder whose fault is that.”
The sneer in her voice was loud and clear, and I reacted to it by grabbing her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “Do you want to be here?”
Her eyes searched mine.
I gripped her jaw tighter. “I asked you a question. Do you want to be here?”