Perfect Strangers

He cocks his head and arches his brows, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“On my pussy.”

He whispers mockingly, “Oohhh, there.”

“Yes, please. Now, please. Unless you want to spank me there instead, because I love that.”

Looking down at me, his smile fades. He examines me, his intensity growing by the second, until he says in a low, terse voice, “It’s a good thing you’re not here long. Otherwise, I’d make you mine.”

His words thrill me and so does the passion in his eyes. But the passion is tempered by that darkness that wells up at unexpected moments, the darkness that should frighten me but instead makes me want to dive in deep and lose myself in it.

“You say that like being yours would be a bad thing.”

“It wouldn’t be good, Olivia. Not for you.”

“Why not?”

After a tense hesitation, he murmurs, “Touchy subject.”

Outside, thunder rumbles. A crack of white lightning briefly illuminates the room. I push aside the eerie and irrational feeling that nature herself is warning me away from him and frame his chiseled jaw in my hands.

Gazing deep into his beautiful blue eyes, I say, “You can’t see yourself like I can, James. Any woman would be lucky to belong to a man like you. You’ll find the right one someday. And whoever she is, I hope I never meet her, because I’ll be so envious I’ll want to punch her right in the face.”

He inhales, nostrils flaring. His eyes narrow to slits.

Then, with startling ferocity, he crushes his mouth to mine.

He kisses me so hungrily I’m instantly breathless. My heart pounds violently, so hard it feels as if it’s beating outside my chest. In the next instant he’s gone, rearing back on his knees to shove my thin T-shirt up my chest and over my face and arms. He gathers it around my wrists and ties the ends together, yanking the knot closed hard.

Gripping my forearms, he presses my wrists against the mattress above my head and stares down at me. His eyes are glassy and burning, like he’s running a fever.

“Don’t come until I say you can.”

His voice is deadly soft. It sends a zing of exhilaration skittering across my nerve endings.

I like him like this, on the outer edge of his control. I like knowing this weird intensity of desire and need is mutual, that he wishes he could manage it but can’t, not really, not enough for us to stay safe.

It’s clear to me that neither of us believes in safety. Not anymore. Not after what life has put us through.

We’re bound by the awful truth that safety is an illusion.

It’s also the thing that, in this moment, sets us both free.

He tears off my panties. Literally tears them, ripping through the lacy material with ease and yanking the shreds out from under me. Then he shoves his face between my thighs and starts to greedily suck on my clit, reaching up to roughly squeeze my breasts in his big hot hands.

I love it. I love it so much I arch and shudder and reward him with a guttural moan that turns into the shape of his name.

He pinches my nipples and works his tongue between my legs, driving me higher and higher until I’m pleading with him for release. But he doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he turns his head to my thigh and bites me there, his teeth sinking into my tender flesh with a sting that brands my heart.

“Not yet, beautiful,” he warns, his voice hard. “Not without me inside you.”

I rock my hips, groaning, turning my head restlessly from side to side. “Fuck me, then. Hurry. Please.”

That animal noise rumbles through his chest. The one that tells me he loves my reaction, my words, my unapologetic need for what he’s giving me. The mattress dips as he steps onto the floor. I hear him rummage through his clothing, then I hear the rip of foil and know he came prepared this time.

The mattress dips again. James says, “Open your eyes.”

He hovers above me, his hands planted on either side of my head. I glance down and see his erect cock, sheathed in a condom, bobbing heavily between my spread thighs.

It’s thick and long, much bigger than I’ve had before, but I’m no virginal bride. I know he’ll fit me just right.

I watch in fascination as he fists his cock in his hand and nudges it against my soaked folds. He slides it up and down until the crown is glistening.

“Look at me.”

When I meet his dark gaze, he growls, “You’re mine until September. Say it.”

I say breathlessly, “Yes. I’m yours until September. I’m all yours.”

With one abrupt flex of his hips, he shoves the entire length of his thick cock deep inside me.

Crying out, I arch from the mattress. He props himself up on one elbow, fists his hand into my hair, and reaches underneath me with his other hand to grab my ass in a possessive grip.

Into my ear, he commands, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

I do, trembling all over. He exhales, slowly withdraws until only the crown of his cock remains inside me, then thrusts again.

He smothers my moan with a kiss, deep and demanding. Then he thrusts again and again, driving hard into my aching wetness.

It’s not gentle. This isn’t lovemaking. This is fucking, raw and animal and beautiful in it’s urgency.

A single hard contraction inside me makes me break away from his mouth and beg. “James, oh God, James, please, I need to come, please let me come…”

Breathing hard, he slows the motion of his hips until it’s the smallest movement, then he falls still. In a firm voice, he says, “No.”

He bends his head to my breast and draws my hard nipple into the hot, wet heat of his mouth.

Delirious, I writhe beneath him. My skin is on fire. All my muscles are clenched. I rock my hips, grinding my clit against his pelvis and chasing the burn building in my core. I feel a rush of exhilaration when his dick twitches in response.

He puts his mouth next to my ear. “Such a bad girl. My beautiful, bad girl. If you don’t stop moving your hips right now, I’ll pull out and spank your ass until it’s so sore you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

I sob in frustration.

I know this is edging thing is a game I agreed to play, but holy fuck am I regretting it.

Falling still, I lie beneath him, panting and trembling, my skin slicked with sweat. He bends his head to my breasts again, lavishing the other nipple with attention, nipping at it and flicking it with his tongue.

I need so badly to move my hips. Instead I bite my lower lip, hard, and remain motionless as James goes back and forth between my throbbing nipples, sucking and gently biting, testing my flesh with his teeth to see what makes me moan, what makes me gasp.