Incentive (Infidelity Universe)

“Take it.” He pushes the crown past my lips and hisses. “Fuck.”

I flatten my tongue and stretch my jaw to accommodate him as he sinks another inch. And another. There’s no way I can swallow his entire length.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, slowly feeding me half his hardness before pulling out and starting again.

I hold my mouth open, clutch his ass, and absorb his shallow thrusts.

The air has been knocked from my lungs, and a million doubts race through my head. I should’ve kicked him out the moment he disregarded my limits and spanked me. I should be on the phone with Infidelity right now, reporting his violation. It worries me that I’ve done nothing to defend myself. It terrifies me. I don’t know him, yet here I am, hungrily sucking his cock.

I told this man my secrets and broke my own rules by letting him fuck me without Reese. I’m repeating mistakes, restarting the ugly cycle of terrible decisions, and I can’t bring myself to stop it.

Because I’m already attached.

It could be worse. He isn’t burying himself in the back of my throat or slamming against my face to get himself off. But his restraint is tenuous. I see it in the trembling of his legs, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the strained look on his face. He wants to unleash the animal pacing behind his eyes.

“Suck it. Don’t stop.” A desperate growling noise comes from his throat. He’s so vocal and worked up, humming long groans beneath his breath and whispering so softly I can’t make out all the words. “Yes…good…oh, fuck…”

He slips his shaft from my mouth and yanks me off the floor. In the next breath, he crushes me against the nearest wall, with my legs around his hips and his cock buried in one hard drive.

I arch into his thrusts and hug the strong column of his neck, moaning and grinding my way toward another release.

“Fuck, Laynee.” Without breaking eye contact, he lets go of his control, slamming his hips and banging me ruthlessly, wildly, against the sheetrock. “What are you doing to me?”

Gripping the back of my neck, he pulls me close and takes my mouth in a hot wet kiss. His other arm hooks around my back, working me up and down his cock. He tastes like recklessness, smells like leather and testosterone, and feels like a whipping storm of passion. I’ve never been with a man so emotionally and vehemently expressive with his body.

I’ve never felt this connected to another person.

He grabs a handful of my ass and bends forward, deepening his angle. “Give me your eyes.”

I don’t just give him my eyes. I give myself over to him completely. With a free-falling scream of surrender, I come on his cock with all the poise of a deliriously satisfied woman. My entire body shudders, my chest heaves for air, and my fingernails claw at his back.

He holds my gaze and pumps himself in and out erratically, panting, muscles flexing and shaking. His mouth opens. His pupils dilate, and he roars his release with a guttural, sexy-as-hell groan. It’s a beautiful sight—the tendons in his neck stretched taut, lips swollen, and eyes molten and fixed on mine.

“Decker.” I slump against his chest and slide my cheek along the sharp angles of his. “I love watching you come.”

He trembles and twitches against me, the hardened flesh of his chest feverish and damp. “It’s never been that good. Ever.”

Pinning me to the wall with his body, he doesn’t pull out as he cradles my face in his hands and kisses me languorously, breathlessly, and with more affection than I know what to do with.

It’s too late to hold on to the vulnerable pieces of myself. He’s already taken them, and in exchange, he’s given me hope. Hope that he won’t hurt me. Hope that this will last.

Hope is the most dangerous incentive of all.

CHAPTER 19

DECKER

The next four months are as intense and hungry as that afternoon in the L.A. dressing room. It’s strange how I don’t miss being single and unattached. I sure as hell don’t miss the loneliness of my studio apartment. In fact, I’ve discovered a fuckton of perks in living with a woman.

One woman in particular.

When I wake morning or night, I only have to reach over to fill my hands with a perfect set of tits. When I’m in a bad mood or not feeling well, she’s at my side, soothing me with affection and concern—something I don’t remember ever receiving, not even from my mother. It also feels fucking amazing to be instructing again. She’s just one student, but watching her flex her new-found confidence on the wrestling mats has renewed my passion in teaching. When she kicks my ass, the sound of her laughter is intoxicating. It’s made me greedy for more.