Rush

“I thought you’d be used to seeing me naked by now,” I gasp as he kisses along my jaw and down my throat.

“No. I’m not. And I don’t fucking like other people seeing you naked.”

“Rush, we’re working. Why does it matter?”

“Because they don’t know you’re mine,” he snarls.

Heat darts between my legs. There’s no breath in my lungs to insist that I’m not his and I never said I was, before he’s hoisting me up onto his shoulders so I’m straddling his face. He pulls my G-string aside and buries his face in my pussy.

I’m on full display for anyone passing this darkened corridor, but thankfully no one else’s room is along here and apparently Rush is too crazed to care. I bury my fingers in his hair as he works his tongue against my clit, my arched back against the wall.

He doesn’t want to fuck around. He just wants to make me come. No teasing, no wavering, just an assault on my senses that’s completely out of my hands. My already over-heated body turns molten against his mouth and I come in a long, harsh cry, pulsating against his mouth.

Rush pulls back and lets me slide down his body until my legs are wrapped around his waist. His hand dives down into his pocket, and he swears. I can guess why. No condom. He carries me into my bedroom, places me on my feet and slams the door closed behind him.

“There isn’t time. Marlena said thirty minutes,” I point out.

He gives me a look that makes my insides liquefy even more. “Where are your condoms?”

I point to the makeup bag on my dresser and he snatches one up.

Yes, I brought condoms. I packed them thinking about him and watching him put one on. I watch him do it now, shoving his black jeans down and rolling the latex down his thickened length.

Rush grasps my waist and pushes me face first over my bed, and then his foot pushes between mine and kicks them open. He’s never been this rough before. I could say my safe word if I wanted to, but nothing could be further from my mind. His hand lands on my ass in a loud smack. I barely have time to gather my feet beneath me and arch my back before he’s grasped my hips and shoved himself into me. That first penetration has me crying out from the shock of it. He pulls out halfway, and then thrusts into me again.

He fucks me, quickly and urgently, as if he’s trying to prove a point. I’m taking a battering and it feels so damn good.

Rush pulls out, grasps my ankle and flips me onto my back. I pull my knees up to my chest, eager for him to sink into me again. His jeans are around his thighs, and a moment later, my legs are too. I try to find a place on his body that’s not marked up with paint to hold onto, but give up, and end up with my palms against his chest as he thrusts, hard, but unhurried now. His silver and violet eyes are sparkling as his hair falls around his face.

“Who’s my pretty girl?” He says it several times, and I pretend to be too caught up in the hard fuck he’s subjecting me to, and it’s not a stretch, because I can feel my orgasm bearing down on me with every delicious drag and thrust of his cock. He’s buried deep inside me as he groans my girl.

He grasps my chin and makes me look at him. “I said, who’s my girl?”

I’m saved from answering by the orgasm that overwhelms me and I couldn’t speak even if he had a gun to my head. Rush groans deep in his chest, and he comes as well.

We’re both breathing hard when he stops moving. He withdraws and throws the condom onto the carpet, and then collapses onto the bed beside me. He scrubs his hands over his face, his whole body a mess of smudged paint. There are black marks all over me as well. He stays that way, his fingers in his hair and his eyes squeezed shut like he’s suddenly got a migraine.

I sit up slowly and touch his shoulder. “Rush? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he grates out. “I’ll come downstairs, just give me a minute.”

That’s weird. I watch him for a moment longer, wondering if I should fetch him some painkillers. He doesn’t move as I sit up and pull on my underwear and robe. I linger over tying the belt, watching the expression of agony deepen on his face. Rush doesn’t look at me, even though he must know I’m still in the room.

Marlena will be wondering where I am and I have to clean up this paint, so I go into the bathroom and wipe myself over with a damp cloth.