Rebel Soul

He parts his lips to answer, but I rush to beat him. “Never mind. My room is perfect.”

I set off for the stairs, making it all the way to the base before two strong arms lock around my middle from behind. With a hard yank, I’m plastered against the broad planes of West’s chest. “My room’s fine. In fact, I’ve been fantasizing about seeing your pretty red hair fanned out across my sheets for weeks.”

“What?” I ask in disbelief.

“That’s right.” He skims his hands up from my waist, moving them over the dips of my sides and up to my breasts. He palms them, testing their weight; the sensation of his touch is like a live wire. “This shit with us is new. It’s undefined, so I’ll break it down real quick for you. You’re mine. I want you in my bed, screaming my name, while I do my best to put my baby inside you.”

I shiver as his words move over me, lighting me up from the inside out. “Then take me to bed.”

West spins me to face him and captures my lips in a searing kiss before tossing me over his shoulder. He moves through the house with ease, even with my added weight, which only turns me on more.

In his room, he wastes no time tossing me down onto the center of his feather-soft mattress. Standing above me, he looks down at me with an almost feral heat in his eyes. His fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one as I look on eagerly.

When the last button is undone, he slides the shirt off, letting it drop at his feet. He moves to his belt buckle next, but I rise up to my knees and place my hands over his. “Let me.”

His hands fall away, and I work his belt and pants open. I tug the denim down his hips, revealing his very prominent, boxer-covered erection.

Impatient, he knocks my hands away and finishes stripping so that he stands before me naked and proud—a statue of strength and virility meant to be worshiped—and worship him I will.

The second he moves toward me, I spring forward and take him into my mouth, sucking and licking, reveling in his guttural groans. “Fuck, Stacia, baby. Fuck!” He fists my hair and guides himself deeper into my throat, almost to the point of pain. He’s relentless as he thrusts himself into my mouth, and I fucking love it. I love how he manhandles me and takes what he wants.

His entire body trembles as he pulls me off of him with a wet pop. “Strip,” he commands, his own hand replacing my mouth as he stares me down. He’s a man barely restrained, and it’s now my single goal to make him break—to drive him wild with want and need.

Still on my knees, I tug my top over my head, loving the way he groans at the sight of my sheer lace bra. His eyes practically glaze over with desire as I pull the cups down, baring my breasts to him.

Reaching around, I pop the clasp and let the lacy fabric fall away. I trail my hands over my chest and nearly hiss as my fingers graze my nipples before sliding down my belly to the waistband of my skirt. But before I can do anything, West is there, his strong body hovering over mine as he pushes me down onto my back.

“What was it you said? Mmm.” He licks his lips. “Let me.” His voice is a rasp as his hands move to the zipper on the side of my skirt.

In what feels like no time flat and eternity all at once, he has me stripped to nothing, with his lips moving over my feverish skin until he settles himself between my restless thighs.

The first swipe of his talented tongue, and, I swear to God, I see stars as they’re being formed. He feasts on me as if I’m his last meal, licking and sucking until I’m a wanton, moaning mess, begging for him to fill me.

“Oh my God,” I pant, digging my fingers into his hair as he brings me to the edge of bliss. “I need you.”

“Need me to what, baby?” His words are a low growl, a fire to my already flickering flame.

“To fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

With one last long lick, he moves up my body, lining us up just right. “With pleasure,” he groans as he pushes into me.

We both moan as he pulls back and rocks into me again. With every thrust, his tempo increases, until he’s pounding into me like a man possessed.

My hands claw at his back, his chest, anywhere they can reach as he commands my body with his. Sweat dots his brow, and I fucking love it—I love knowing that it’s his pursuit of my pleasure that’s exerting him so fully.