Notorious (Playing With Fire)

He said nothing like the chicken shit he was. Instead he positioned himself over her, his hands planted on either side of her head, his cock rubbing against the soft slope of her belly. Staring at her, his eyes slid closed and he breathed deep. Searching for courage, wishing like hell he wasn’t so afraid to admit his feelings. Wishing he could be everything Stacy wanted.

Reaching between them, he gripped himself, slipping his fingers around the base of his cock and guided himself home.

Home inside Stacy.

Eric thrust inside her, slow and easy. Filling her to the absolute brink. She struggled against the soft velvet cuffs, felt them chafe against the sensitive skin inside her wrists, against her ankles. How she wished she could touch him. Freely run her hands through his soft hair, let her fingers explore his gorgeous body. Every dip and curve and ridge of muscle, the tickling hair on his forearms, the banked heat of his smooth skin.

Stacy had to admit her earlier orgasm was by far the most intense she’d ever experienced. There had been no controlling it whatsoever. Her climax had simply built and built, ratcheting up the intensity with every stroke of his fingers, every flick of his talented tongue. She’d been helpless, lying there and taking his loving abuse. His mouth on her, his long fingers inside her, the way she’d come against his lips, how she’d shivered uncontrollably and literally sobbed her release. It had felt almost surreal. Deliciously surreal.

And now having him inside her, buried so deep, as deep as he could get, well she couldn’t much participate but lift her hips a bit, which resulted in sending him even deeper. They both groaned, his voice sounded ragged, his arms and shoulders trembled from his restraint, muscles standing out in stark relief. She wished he would unleash all that pent-up power on her. Lose control and lose himself inside her. That’s all she wanted.

Oh, that and an admission from him that he trusted her. Maybe even a confession of his love for her…

Her entire body tingled at the thought. Of him whispering the words in her ear, his breath warm and damp, his lips brushing against her lobe as he confessed his feelings. She would whisper she loved him too and then, oh then he would take her to new heights. Something he was so very, very good at.

Again and again he pushed inside her, using and abusing her body in the most delicious way possible. His mouth met hers, the hot, wet glide of his tongue against hers sending tantalizing ripples down her spine, across her belly, vibrating deep within her. Already her orgasm built. This one slower, deeper, steadier and God, if it was going to be even more intense she wasn’t sure how she’d survive it.

He increased his pace and Stacy whispered his name, wishing she could ask for what she really wanted.

Do you trust me, Eric?

Do you love me?

Do you always want to be with me?

She didn’t have the courage, not yet. His lavish attention upon her body showed he wanted her, needed her. Cared for her. She believed deep down he trusted her, loved her but she needed to hear it.

She needed that confirmation more than anything. It didn’t leave a girl hanging.

“God, Stacy, you feel so good.” The words rushed out of him, an agonized groan following his declaration and she turned her head as he rained kisses down her neck. Stared out the uncovered sliding glass door, she looked at the apartment building across from Eric’s. Many windows were uncovered in the darkening night, soft golden light glowing from within the homes, and she caught sight of a similar sliding glass door directly across from Eric’s. Saw a man sitting on the edge of his bed facing them.

Watching them.

She didn’t admit it to Eric, not yet, savoring the fact the man watched them all to herself. She arched beneath Eric, her breasts brushing against his chest and he pushed her down gently with the tips of his fingers on her shoulder. Dipping his head, he sucked her nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth, alternating between each nipple until they were wet, aching.

And all the while the man continued to watch.

Stacy couldn’t help it. She smiled. It was positively wicked, knowing the stranger observed them during such an intimate act. A

moment that meant more to her than almost any other they’d shared so far. She should tell Eric. He would put on a show for their audience of one. She knew it.

She frowned for the briefest moment. God, what was wrong with her? She was downright depraved. Unfortunately, Eric caught sight of the frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he slowed his thrusts.

“We have an audience,” she whispered.

Eric stilled above her, turning his head toward the window. “What do you mean?”

She had a feeling he knew exactly what she meant.

“There’s a man. Watching us. Can you see him?” She turned to look at the man once more and saw he stared right at them. As if he knew they knew he was there.

As if he dared them to shut the curtains, wave their fists in protest, something. He wanted to be noticed.

Arousal slipped through her, slow and warm and like honey sliding through her veins. How crazy could this get?

Eric stared out the sliding glass door, cocked his head to the side until he finally noticed their secret—or not so secret—observer. “I can see him.” He turned to look at her once more. “Does it bother you?”