The tightening heat in his stomach was a primal demand, his body thrumming for a fight and his eyes fixed on his meal.
“Last door on the left.” He trailed after her, chasing, hunting his chosen with a determination that couldn’t be extinguished.
She reached the bedroom two paces ahead of him. As the door swung closed, he stopped it with the toe of his boot. Then he kicked it open.
“Get out.” She tried to re-shut it, pushing him back, her resistance at odds with the raw lust in her eyes.
He wasn’t imagining it. Her breathing unfurled at a ravenous speed, noisily heaving from her chest. Her nipples pebbled beneath the tight shirt, her pupils dilated. She licked her lips, stared at his mouth, and shoved him again.
With a hand holding the door open and his boots planted on the threshold, he didn’t budge.
Wild brown hair fell in disarray around her shoulders, the upthrust of her tits so round and tempting. Lashes, sprinkled in dark hues of animosity, hooded the molten silver of her eyes.
He leaned in, shaking with excitement and hard as a rock.
She leaned in, too, angry and gorgeous and not above ruthlessness when it came to getting what she wanted.
Right now, she wanted him. The dip of her gaze to his straining fly confirmed it.
“When I shove down your pants,” he said, “and sink my fingers in your pussy, you’re going to drip all over my hand.”
“Doesn’t mean anything. I love your monstrous cock.”
He throbbed behind his zipper, engorged past the point of pain.
Tension mounted. He didn’t force his way in. She didn’t push him out. They just stared at each other for an endless, unblinking moment.
Then they moved. He grabbed her as she climbed his body. Lips colliding and hands grappling, they locked in a battle they would both win.
The door hadn’t even closed before he had her pinned against the wall. She tore his fly. He wrenched down her pants. In a frenzy of shredded fabric, they managed to rip enough clothing out of the way, and he was in her.
Christ almighty, he was all the way in, plunging to the root and submerged into soaking wet heat. Her hips rose to meet his, questing, demanding, and he gave it to her. Nailing her against the wall, he fucked her with the unbridled force of his strength.
It was so incredibly hot, this unhinged frenzy between them, this mutual, maddening urgency to climb closer and closer until they dug out their souls. They couldn’t keep their hands and mouths off each other. Ripping at clothes, kicking away shoes, they were naked and tumbling across the floor in a matter of seconds.
She thrashed beneath him, her eyes the color of rainclouds. Perky, flushed tits. A complexion so pristine and fair. Sinful pink lips—one set bruising his mouth while the other swallowed the full length of his hunger.
His hips moved like a piston, chasing his release. The sensations blew his mind, the pleasure out of this world. He was going to come. Really fucking hard and soon.
He broke the kiss and held her gaze, his balls tightening, the pressure nearing detonation. “Tell me you don’t need me.”
“I don’t need you.”
He pulled out, rose up, and finished all over her chest and face, grunting and shaking in a surge of liquid ecstasy. With a firm grip, he continued to stroke from base to tip, milking every drop and spraying jets of come across her shivering flesh.
When his nuts went empty, he climbed to his feet, his insides jumping with wild anticipation of her reaction.
She sniffed haughtily, sat up, and reached blindly behind her. Her hand landed in his bag near the door. Without a word, she pulled out his favorite fur-felt cowboy hat and wiped it across her chest, collecting his come on the expensive fabric. She used the underside on her face, cleaning every drop of him from her skin. Then tossed the hat back in his bag.
He stood there in absolute disbelief, staring at her. His hat would forever be traumatized.
Opening her legs, she ran two fingers along her slit and slipped them inside, her wicked eyes fixed on his. “I don’t need you.”
The fuck she didn’t. She needed his cock, his protection, and above all, she needed his love. But rather than forcing any of it on her, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom.
One round with this woman would never be enough. Already, his dick was swelling with blood, pulsing to get back inside her.
Halfway to the bathroom, her footsteps hit the floor, sprinting after him. He didn’t have time to turn before she was climbing up his back and biting down on his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Then she slapped him across the head.
His temper flared, and he spun. She spun with him, sliding to her feet while landing a torrent of punches on his spine and ribs. His seething frustration culminated in World War III when her open palm collided with his ass.