Wet and Reckless (Private Pleasures 4)

“I was hoping to borrow another part of you.” She rocked her hips and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyelids battle gravity.

“Anything you want…ah, Jesus.” He clamped her hips when she rocked them again.

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m a giver.” He felt around on the bed and found the condom. “I’ll even giftwrap it for you.”

She scooted onto his thighs while he ripped the foil and was about to offer to do the small chore, but the sight of him holding his cock chased the notion clean out of her head. He dragged his fist up and down in a quick, firm stroke that made her insides quicken. Still gripping the base, he rolled the condom on and then tilted his erection away from his stomach so it jutted straight up. Swallowing all the extra saliva suddenly flooding her mouth, she glanced at West. His lips curved into a sure smile. “Keep it as long as you like.”

Oh, yes. Very sure of himself. She lifted onto her knees and straddled his lap. He settled his free hand at the curve of her waist.

“I intend to take my time.” With that, she began to lower herself. At the first contact, however, he disabused her of the notion she had the control. No matter how playful or generous, West Donovan wasn’t about to let her call all the shots. He worked the head of his cock through her folds, hitting her clit, and then making her chase him as he completed a slow figure eight. That meandering move from him was all it took to stall her.

She held herself there, open and unprotected, while West nudged his broad head over her clit again and again, treating the hypersensitive bundle of nerves like a tiny counterpart, pressing pleasure directly into it. Other receptors in harder to reach places sent out sharp pangs of protest at being left out. She leaned forward and braced her hands on either side of his shoulders. The move changed the angle of her hips, pushed him closer to where she needed him. Through the curtain of her hair she said, “Hurry.”

“I promised you a proper fucking, remember?” He guided his cock in another leisurely figure eight through her wet center.

Her inner muscles contracted as he neared. “We have a very different definition of proper. Or fucking. I can’t. No, don’t—” Those muscled squeezed tight as he retreated again. “Inside. I have to have something inside me.” Abandoning whatever small amount of dignity she still owned, she shoved her hand between her legs and pushed two fingers inside her aching channel. A single shaft of sunlight through the curtains blinded her as she absorbed the small measure of relief.

West shot upright in an awe-inspiring crunch of abs and grasped the back of her head. “That might be the most reckless behavior I’ve seen out of you yet.”

Just for the sheer fun of testing his patience, she slowly pushed her fingers deeper and gyrated her hips. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Ruin your greedy pussy for everything except my cock.” A second later, her back hit the bed. Then he hauled her hips up, which tipped her head off the edge of the mattress and tumbled her hair toward the floor. She sent out a silent prayer to the universe, and then, thank you universe, he thrust into her. She was so ready—so beyond ready—her body welcomed him fully, as if she’d been made for specific purpose of getting fucked by West Donovan. The depth and power of his entry drove an inglorious gasp out of her, followed promptly by a groan of frustration when he withdrew just as quickly and completely. Her glassy-eyed, upside-down reflection stared back at her in the mirror. A solid backstop of abs and chest rose up from the V of her thighs. Mile-wide shoulders provided a shelf for her calves. Something that looked disconcertingly similar to possessiveness carved lines in his forehead. Their eyes met. The sure-of-himself smile made an encore appearance.

“You want to go back to your fingers, Reckless?”

“God, no…” Even as the denial poured out of her, this struck her as a risky thing to do. Self-sufficiency was kind of key to her way of life, and lying under him, reeling from the perfect fullness of his penetration, quivering for more, felt about as far from self-sufficient as a girl could get. Forget nicotine. What if West became her drug of choice?

That errant question triggered an instinct to hold back, if only to confirm she still could.

Maybe he saw something in her expression, or maybe he read her mind, because he stretched out over her, supporting his weight on his forearms, leaving her folded like an accordion beneath him. With a slow roll of his hips, he surged into her again. Not as deep, but ruthlessly calculated to tantalize her with everything he withheld. She lay back, impaled by his determined gaze and devastating cock.

“If you need something inside you, that’s my job. Trust me to do it right this time.”

But he didn’t trust her, and he was right not to. She squirmed, trying to take him in and lock him out at the same time. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t know you? That’s bullshit, Roxy Belle Goodhart. You like swimming holes and summer storms. Red is your favorite color, and music lives in your soul. You’d give someone in need the shirt off your back, but you have a hard time accepting a hand yourself. And right about now, you’d very much like me to shut up and fuck you. How’m I doing so far?”

“Impressive, Officer,” she managed, barely, and then grabbed handfuls of the sheet when he pulled out again.

“West,” he corrected and dug an elbow into the bed to brace his weight so he could trace her lower lip with a fingertip. “I want to see your mouth form my name. I want to hear you scream it when you come.” He punctuated his demands with another perfectly calculated thrust.

She bit her lip against the need to cry out for more…faster…harder. Impatience came at a cost, she was learning, and if he pulled out again, she might just orgasm right there, empty and enflamed by the ruthless taunt of his cock. He slid his hand down and cupped her where their bodies joined, squeezed until all she could feel was his hard, hot length lodged inside her.

Their reflection in the mirror went blurry for a moment as a new wave of need washed over her, and she did cry out. He waited until she quieted, and her attention refocused on him. “Are you ready for a proper fucking, Roxy?”

Her throat closed. All she could do was nod.

Apparently, that was sufficient, because West started to move. His body slid over hers, into hers. His hips pistoned, pinning hers to the mattress, releasing, pinning, pinning and releasing.

Daylight streamed in through the edges of the drapes, highlighting the notch of concentration carved in West’s brow, the shoulder and arm muscles that bunched and flexed with every move he made.

The waves came faster. Her body struggled to catch one. Catch it and ride it

to heaven or hell or wherever it cast her. She flung an arm above her head. The woman in the mirror did the same, reached toward her like a rescuer, but all she succeeded in catching was air.

West cupped her jaw. “Who’s fucking you, Roxy?”