“No,” I breathe.
“Tell me I can take it. Tell me I can be the first.”
“Take it,” I all but beg, pushing onto him again.
Dare’s weight is gone as he stands behind me once more, haphazardly digging four fingers into the jar before lubing me up some more. I look behind me to see him using the excess to coat his cock before he’s pushing against the tight ring. I lock up, not expecting the sharp sting, but Dare soothes me, rubbing my back and thighs, coaxing me to loosen up.
“Relax, baby,” he says before nibbling on my shoulder, softer this time. He snakes a hand in between my legs, playing with my clit as he starts to move again. I melt into his touch, his pretty words. Slowly, so slowly, he nudges inside. I feel the moment he pushes past the tight muscle, and I slump forward on the counter in relief.
“I feel so full.”
Dare groans at my admission, pumping his hips a little faster after giving me a minute to adjust. I half-moan, half-whine at the feeling. “Play with your pussy,” he instructs as his hands move back to spread my ass. I look over my shoulder once more, watching him as he watches himself move inside me. His lean abs flex with each thrust and I do as he says, rubbing my clit. The heady mixture of pain and pleasure is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Soon, he’s fucking me just as hard as he would my pussy, and my whole body is vibrating, shaking with the sensations running through me. I feel drugged, completely out of my mind. My body is on sensory overload. Over-stimulated to the point that tears stream down my cheeks.
Dare pulls my back to his front, arms wrapping around me as he ruts into me, his hips slapping against my ass that’s still half-covered by my ripped leggings. One arm dips down to cup me between the legs while his other arm wraps around my neck.
“Fuck my hand while I fuck your ass,” Dare rasps into my ear. “Come for me, Lo.”
His words send me over the edge as I grind against his hand while he fucks up into me without remorse.
“I’m coming,” I cry, holding his hand in place while I ride it. He curls two fingers inside me, hitting a spot that makes my eyes roll back as I spasm around him.
“Fuck,” Dare grinds out. “Your ass is squeezing me so hard.”
I slump forward with my cheek pressed onto the cold granite countertop, my palms flat against the smooth surface. Dare’s hands come over the tops of mine, folding his fingers between my own as he gives two more powerful strokes. I feel the moment he spills inside me, and then he’s sinking against me, kissing the notches in my spine before he slowly pulls out of my spent body.
We’re depleted and sweaty, lying on top of Dare’s couch as he traces his fingertips up and down my side. He’s on his side behind me, head propped on his hand, my ripped leggings and the rest of our clothes strewn all over the floor.
“I love tickles,” I say sleepily, as goosebumps pepper my skin.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks. I’m raw and sore, but I’m still in a state of euphoria, I think.
“A little,” I say, downplaying it. “But I liked it.”
That same dark look flashes in his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to lose control.”
I roll toward him, my eyebrows cinched together in confusion. Our noses are almost touching with how close we are. “What are you talking about? You didn’t. I literally asked for it.”
He looks away, clenching his jaw, but I flatten my palm against his cheek, forcing him to look at me. His stubbled jaw scratches against my skin, and it dawns on me that I get to touch him like this, when no one else does. It’s a thrilling thought, as weird as that may seem.
“Talk to me. You know all my shit.” Dare opened up about his past, but I suspect there’s still more.
“I told you my shit,” he bites back, and I flinch, taken aback by his tone. His eyes soften at my reaction, and he grabs the back of my head, pulling me under his chin. My cheek is pressed against his chest, and I inhale deeply. I could drown in his piney scent.
“I was an angry kid, and an even angrier teenager,” he starts. I wonder if it’s easier for him to talk this way—with me tucked into his chest rather than looking me in the eye. “I had anger management issues. Abandonment issues. Authority issues,” he ticks off. “Basically, every issue. Self-control was always my weak point. I fucked shit up, and I fought. A lot.” He takes a deep breath, and I hear the steady beat of his heart against my ear. I don’t respond. I’m not the best at this whole feeling-sharing thing either, so I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.
“When I was sixteen, I almost went to prison. I’ve spent the last ten years making sure I’m not that kid anymore.”
“That’s it?” I say, tilting my head back far enough to meet those eyes that are bluer than water that this town is so well-known for. “You almost went to prison?”
Dare looks at me questioningly. “I was a fucking monster. Is that not enough for you?” There’s no heat behind his words. He states them as a fact. As if he were merely commenting on the weather.
“You didn’t actually go, though? Did you at least get to wear handcuffs? Or sit in the back of a cop car?”
“That, I have done,” he says, the corners of his lip tugging into an almost smile.
“Meh,” I tease, unimpressed. “You’re still behind most of the people I grew up with.” So, he has a temper. Big deal. Show me a kid who’s been through half the shit he’s gone through who doesn’t have anger issues.