Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

Kneeling over me, he reached down between us and positioned himself at my opening. The tip pushed inside, and the tight burn immediately made me freeze up again.

“It hurts.” Every muscle tightened up, and I was afraid to move.

“Look at me,” he said.

I raised my shaky eyes, staring at the flat spot on his bottom lip.

“Bend your knees more,” he told me.

I did, my fingers curling into his hips.

“Now, relax your thighs,” he instructed. “Spread ’em wide and let them fall to the bed, okay? Open for me. Just open.”

I laid down my thighs, knees bent and spread for him.

He pushed a little more, and I sucked in a breath, but I didn’t try to stop him. He paused himself and leaned down, whispering over my lips. “You’re torturing me. I just want to sink into you so bad.”

“It’s not in yet?”

He shook with a laugh. “Not all the way. Does it still hurt?”

I was about to say yes. It was definitely uncomfortable, but…I guess it didn’t really hurt.

I shook my head.

Looking into my eyes, he slowly sank deeper, and I started to feel stretched and full and kind of strange.

“How about now?”

“I…I don’t…” I stammered, adjusting to him. “I don’t know.”

He thrust all the way in, bottoming out, and hit me so deep, my eyes rolled back. Oh, shit.

“Kai…”

“Banks, Jesus Christ.” He kissed me. “I love the way you feel.”

I gripped his hips as he nibbled my mouth and neck and ear, and before I knew it, nothing was uncomfortable anymore.

“Put one hand on my shoulder,” he said, leaning back up to look down at me. “I want you to feel me move.”

I did as he told, and slowly, he pulled out. I briefly registered something wet, but he rolled his hips, sinking back inside me.

“Oh, God.” I groaned.

It didn’t hurt at all anymore.

Holding onto him, I watched his body move as the room filled with the sounds of our pants and moans. He slid in and out, pumping faster as his eyes moved from my gaze to my lips to my body underneath him.

“What do I feel like?” he asked.

I pulled him into me as he thrust again, craving the fucking more and more.

“Like fingers in my hair,” I breathed out. “It’s smooth and hard—I want to take more. And the pressure…ugh, right there.”

I grunted, squeezing my eyes shut. I was coming.

I’d made myself come before, but it was different like this. Like it was a muscle locking up tighter and tighter and something swirling like a cyclone, getting higher, and I craved the release.