When he pulls at my thighs to spread my legs open further, I gasp. He’s driving into me so deep, I feel like he could split me in two — and I wouldn’t mind at all.
“I told you you’d want more of me,” he says, his rough voice low near my ear, just for me to hear.
With the way he’s fucking me now, I’m going to want much more. I’m afraid I’ll never get enough, but I know that’s just the sex talking.
Even though Shane was the one to suggest sharing me, he seems to want to claim me as his own, taking me harder, longer, rougher. He fucks me until I’m whimpering. I wrap my arms around his neck and come apart on his cock, and he keeps pounding into me, stretching my climax out into an infinite space where I want to exist for the rest of my life.
I’m still floating in nothingness when Shane’s body tenses. His hand wraps more tightly around my thigh and his hips dig into my flesh as he starts to unleash.
Every muscle in his face is tight, his eyes squeezed shut, his body overcome. Still enjoying my own aftershocks, I watch him with fascination, until his hand comes up to cup my jaw.
“Becca.” His voice is not much more than a murmur, but it lands a big impact, somehow knocking down invisible walls that I often forget are there, leaving me open and vulnerable.
It’s as if Shane demands more than just a physical connection. He’s the very reason I don’t have sex with men more than once.
When he kisses me, I want to resist, but I’m still drugged from the amazing sex, and he tastes so good. I remember the flavor of him, from the night he took me for a ride on his bike. How, as soon as I sampled him, I wanted more.
Without my permission, my throat makes a little sound of disappointment when he pulls away. He’d been looking vulnerable too, but when his face rearranges into a cocky expression, I know he heard me.
He sets me on the floor, turns and strides away, as if he’s proved some kind of point.
I let my body slump back against the wall, still too overcome to even try to put up a strong front.
Fuck him. It was good sex. That doesn’t make it mean anything.
“Want some water, Becca?” It’s Devin, of course, looking out for me.
I nod. “That’d be great.”
Marcos speaks up as he moves for the cupboard. “I got it.”
While he fills a glass with water, I move over to the island and lean against the counter. I’d like to take a seat, but I don’t want to mess up the cushions on their stools. The men have all had condoms on, so I’m not a total mess, but I don’t think my pussy has ever been wetter than tonight.
After taking a long drink of much-needed hydration, I set the glass down and look at Marcos, wondering how it’s going to be. I’ve already decided that this room is now my favorite in their huge, fancy house, and I hope that every time I’m in a kitchen for the rest of my life, I’ll remember this night. I’m positive I will.
Ever intriguing, Marcos simply stares back at me, his expression telling me that he’s thinking — calculating even — and a thrill runs through me.
“Want another drink?” he says eventually.
I shake my head and arch a brow. Marcos still has his pants on. His chest is begging to be touched, but I’m waiting for him to make the first move.
When he does, he moves swiftly. Picking me up and hefting me over his shoulder, he announces, “Sorry, guys. She’s spending the night with me.”
38
On your knees
My ass is in the air and my head is facing Marcos’s back as he carries me out of the kitchen. He doesn’t give Khalil or Devin a chance to respond. Shane had been out of the kitchen taking care of his condom, but we pass him in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“We’re going to bed,” Marcos says. “See you in the morning.”
I can only imagine how Shane’s reacting to this news, but Marcos doesn’t hang around to find out. His hard forearms are locked around my thighs, keeping me steady as he smoothly climbs the stairs.
Once we’re at his room, he sets me down outside the door, blocking me against the wall, his arms on either side of my head, his face mere inches from mine.
“Before we go in, I need you to agree to some rules.”
Internally, I laugh, remembering how much Shane hates rules, but here’s Marcos, insisting on a set of his own. Then I think about what he might mean. That, combined with the look on his face, sends a chill down my spine.