And if Sandy agrees, I’m putting my mind to her, deep and then deeper.
All the way.
13
SANDY
When Greg hesitates, all of my working organs seem to freeze in anticipation.
I can change that, he’d said, telling me he could be the man who’d wipe out Tyler’s status as the only man I’ve ever let between my legs. Instantly I became a woman possessed with a demon exactly like the one emblazoned on his bicep. I was willing to beg Greg to make it so. Beg him to take away the lasso that Tyler still has on my heart and body. Wipe away some of the pain.
I know he would.
The man currently holding me as though I weigh nothing more than a feather would have no trouble erasing things. The hands that are gripping into the soft flesh of my ass could pulverize all of my problems. He could pound me until I forget how much my heart hurts for Tyler and how much my heart hurts for me. He can show me that there is life out there that doesn’t involve pain. At least not in a bad way.
Am I a fool?
Yes.
Am I reckless?
I want to be.
Until two months ago, I was a chaste schoolteacher, with nothing on my mind except imparting wisdom to my students. Then a man stole that from me, and now I don’t even recognize myself.
Greg’s chest is heaving, his heart pounding like a bass drum against my palm. His eyes are like obsidian, but within all that darkness lies a raging inferno that threatens to consume me.
And I want to be consumed.
“I’m yours,” I tell him, and he actually growls, sending an animalistic shiver up my spine and slickness between my legs. He doesn’t even have to touch me, and I’m primed for him like a bitch in heat. His lips find mine again, and then he’s walking with all the purpose of the Terminator until my back hits the wall.
“I want to take you to my bed,” he says as he mouths a hot path up my neck, tugging my earlobe into his mouth. “I want to fuck you against this wall, so you’re clawing at my shoulders, begging me to stop.”
“I’ll never beg for that,” I say.
“Oh, you will, girl.” His teeth graze my jaw, and he bites down hard enough to make me yelp. “I’m going to get you so you don’t know what you’re begging me for.”
“Do it.” My fingers dig into his shoulders, and light sparks in his eyes.
“Tell me again.”
“Do it. Take me upstairs and fuck me until I don’t know which way is up and which is down.”
“You won’t know your name by the time I’m finished with you.”
Those are the last words he speaks before he carries me up the stairs, not even breaking a sweat.
Greg’s room is nothing like I expect it to be. It’s entirely white, with luminescent cotton sheets, a white wooden bed frame, and white walls. It’s as sparse and minimalist as a modern art museum, with absolutely nothing out of place. The contrast between the room and the man is mind-blowing.
When my back hits the bed, I don’t have a chance to think before Greg’s hands are unbuttoning my jeans and yanking them off my legs. My panties end up halfway down my thighs, but he takes no time to savor their removal, simply tossing them onto the pristinely clean wooden floor like you’d discard an old rag or a piece of litter. “Take off your top,” he growls, “And then show yourself to me.”
Show myself. What does he mean?
When I fumble to pull off my shirt and deal with my bra fastening, he watches with cool anticipation.
“Show yourself,” he says again.
“How?” Hot blood seeps into my cheeks as he puts his hand on the inside of my pressed-together thighs and eases them open.
“Show me your pretty pussy, Sandy. Use your hands to hold yourself open.”
Oh God. Understanding what he means just makes me blush even harder, but I do what he says because everything about his voice and demeanor commands it.
But I don’t do it fast. I leave my legs to flop open slowly, running my palms down the soft skin of the inside of my thighs, eyes fixed to Greg’s that never leave my center. When my fingers find my labia, I almost slide them over my clit, but something tells me that Greg wouldn’t like that. Pleasure is something he wants to give me. Letting me take it would involve surrendering his control.
Instead, I use my thumbs to part my labia, displaying my most private place to his hungry eyes.
“Good girl,” he says, low voice rumbling like vibrations against my core. “Now stay like that.”
Greg walks around the bed, slowly picking up my discarded clothes, shaking them, and hanging them over a chair. Only when the room is tidy does he begin to strip. That first tug of his tight gray shirt over his head by one brawny arm makes my pussy contract, but he doesn’t see because he’s inside the shirt. The sound of him pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans causes the same response, and this time a flicker of a grin forms at the corner of his mouth. Nothing about his expression speaks of amusement. It’s wickeder than that. It’s as though he thought he knew something about me and has now had it confirmed.