Riot

Instead, I focus on the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, trailing my lips over her collarbone, licking and nipping.

She smells delicious, like coconut and cream. Tastes even better, sweet and salty running from my tongue straight to my cock, making it swell and jerk.

This girl’s dangerous.

And oddly quiet as I touch her with my mouth. Still nervous, I guess. I clasp her ribcage in my hands, glance up at her face. Her eyes are open to thin slits, but at least she’s looking at me.

I hide a grin against her skin, trailing my mouth lower, and slide my hands up to cup her tits. A tremor shakes her when I tease her nipples through the lace with my mouth and thumbs, and fuck, that’s so hot.

Swear to God, I will wrench sounds and moans out of her if it takes me goddamn hours. I’ll make sure she has a good time with me.

Tugging down the lace, I clamp my hands on her waist and suck on her pretty nipples, teasing them to hard nubs, cursing silently when my dick throbs more urgently between us.

Shit. Down, boy.

Again I start counting inside my head, trying every trick I’ve learned over these past two years to keep myself under control.

Trouble is, I’ve rarely had this problem. Never so bad. Dammit, she’s too damn sexy.

Which begs the question what a beautiful, rich girl like her is doing in a hotel room with a paid rent boy like me, and—

“Stop,” she whispers, and it takes me a moment to process the word. “Stop!”

Still holding on to her waist, I release her nipple and lick her sweet taste from my lips as I rock back on my heels. I don’t ask if she’s okay. That never tells you much.

I learned that in the ring, in my old life. Words don’t mean much.

Instead I study her flushed face, her dilated pupils, her parted lips. I study the way her body is straining toward me even as she arches her back.

Excited. Aroused. Damn beautiful.

So I wait for her move. I stopped like she commanded. Maybe this is what this is about—a game of power. It’s okay with me. Whatever she needs.

She swallows hard, her gaze moving over my body, making me groan. I know the moment it lands on my crotch because of her sudden intake of breath, and I force myself not to blink, not to move.

Letting her get used to the fact I’m aroused, and yeah, pretty big, and right here, in front of her, close enough to touch.

Close enough to fuck.

“I want…” She bites her lip, and damn, it’s distracting. Love how her small teeth sink into the plump flesh. “I want you to rip my panties off.”

Okay. A thrill goes through my body, because damn, that’s what I want, too. But somehow I hesitate, something on her face keeping me still.

Maybe it’s because she’s not looking at my face, into my eyes, when she speaks the words, her voice flat and a little empty.

Like she doesn’t really mean it. Like she practiced what to say before we even met.

But that’s crazy thinking, and she just said she wants it. Who am I to argue?

Slipping my hands down to her hips, I grab the tiny bows, the thin lace, and rip it at the seams, then toss the ruined panties aside.

And stifle a groan, because now she’s fully exposed, her shaved pussy open to me—rosy, flushed, wet—and it’s the most erotic thing ever.

Jesus. I love my job tonight.

I reach for her, stroke my thumb over her swollen clit, and she whimpers.

Ah. A sound. Yeah, baby. Grinning, I stroke her again, sliding my thumb down her seam, pushing a little inside, feeling her ripple.