Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

His fingers are still twined in my hair, and when I tease the tip of his cock with my tongue he tightens his grip. “No.”

I can’t tilt my head up, so I can see him only by lifting my eyes skyward, making me feel like even more of a supplicant. “I want that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, and then, instead of me sucking him off, he holds my head in place and actually fucks my mouth.

It isn’t easy—he’s thrusting hard and hitting the back of my throat, and I’m trying to find a rhythm and fight a gag reflex. But at the same time, I like it. For the first time, he’s using me—truly using me—just as I’ve wanted him to do every time he was gunning for a fight. And I know that’s part of it. Because he needs this as much as I do. Needs to take control hard and fast and completely.

This is about his pleasure, not mine, and that simple fact excites me, twisting it around and making it about me, too, because there is pleasure in knowing that we satisfy each other. That like a lock and a key, we fit and make each other whole.

Though we are in the dark, hidden by the shadows and the cars, I think for a moment that anyone could see us, me on my knees on the asphalt and Jackson fucking my mouth hard.

The thought makes me moan, and I’m so damn wet now, the evidence of my excitement creaming my thighs. As Jackson had ordered, I’m not wearing underwear, and I’m tempted, so tempted, to slip my hand under my skirt. But that, I think, is against the rules.

“Christ, Syl, that mouth of yours.” The tightness in his voice tells me how close he is, but just when I think that he is going to explode, he pulls out and hauls me to my feet. He yanks up my blouse, then unfastens the front clasp of my bra before bending me over the hood of my car.

The metal is cool against my skin, and my nipples tighten almost painfully.

“Tell me you liked that,” he says as one hand strokes my back and the other one slides up my thigh. “Tell me you liked my cock in your mouth.”

“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god, yes.”

He slides his hand between my legs and groans softly. “Oh, yes, baby. That’s how I like you. Wet and ready for me.” He hikes my skirt up around my waist so that I am completely bare from the waist down, with the exception of my shoes.

“Spread your legs, baby. I’m going to fuck you hard.” I do, and true to his word, he spreads me wide and shoves his cock hard inside me, his powerful thrusts making me slide across the top of the car, giving me small friction burns on my breasts and belly.

I feel the buildup to his orgasm, and my body responds, claiming him, clenching hard against him, until finally, he explodes inside me, his low groan of pleasure echoing in the dark.

He doesn’t pull out, though. Instead, he holds my hip with one hand and uses the other to reach around our joined bodies and find my clit. I’m so turned on already that it takes very little, and soon the wild tremors of my release cut through me and my cunt clenches tight around him as he continues to tease and play me, not relenting until my knees are weak and it is only his hand and the car that are keeping me from collapsing.

When he has cleaned me up and fixed my clothes, he takes my hand and eases us both to the ground on the darker side of the car. I am limp with satisfaction as I curl up against him by the tires. His arm is around me, and I snuggle close, wanting there to be no distance between us at all. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Sir.”

He chuckles, but then says seriously, “I needed it, too,” revealing what I already knew. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I feel a low buzz of pleasure from that simple touch. “I was so goddamn angry at your father.” He meets my eyes. “And at myself.”

I look away. I was furious when he told my father flat out what Reed had done to me. When he revealed that Reed was still tormenting me, this time by blackmailing me. And he made it damn clear that Jackson and I both know that my father knew all along that Reed wasn’t just taking innocent advertising shots of me.

I’ve gotten over the fury, but that doesn’t mean I want to relive the moment. But it does mean that I understand what Jackson is talking about when he says he needed it, too. He was angry. At my father. At himself.

He was angry and he needed a release.

I was angry and needed to be claimed.

I smile a little thinking about it, but my smile fades soon enough. “It scares me a little,” I admit.

“What does?”

“This. With you.” I tilt my head so that I can look at his eyes, and I see the confusion and the worry in them. “The way I let go completely. The way I want to be used. I get the root of it—I do. It’s about the pleasure that comes from giving up control. It’s fighting back against Reed, who stole that control from me over and over. And, honestly, the wilder it is the more I like it. The intensity—it keeps me grounded. It makes me feel alive.