He held still and let me adjust to his size, but he didn’t kiss me. He seemed intent on studying my response to him, and it was nice this way. I got to see his eyes haze as he slowly retreated, and his mouth part to pull in a ragged breath when he advanced again, this time faster.
“All right?” he whispered in a strained voice.
I nodded, not completely understanding what he was asking.
His gaze flicked up to the wooden pole mounted overhead. “Grab the bar.”
As soon as I did, his hands scooped up under my legs and he lifted me completely, pressing my back against the wall. The shift in weight and the change in angle allowed him to slip deeper inside me, and we both groaned, our sounds of pleasure mingling with each other’s.
Our foreheads pressed together, and he stared unblinking as he made his first actual thrust.
“Oh, God,” I cried. My toes pushed into points, and then his teeth brushed against my bottom lip, gently snagging it.
It made it difficult to discern which I liked better. His cock was fire and pleasure, but his mouth was bliss. I whined with need into his mouth as he established his tempo. I locked my ankles behind his back, the wool of his tuxedo jacket soft against my legs, and I listened to the steady thump of my body against the wall as he drove his hips into me.
Could anyone hear us in here? There wasn’t a lock on the door, and I imagined what it’d look like if someone came in and discovered Macalister holding me in his arms, his pants to his knees and the backs of his bare legs visible beneath his jacket.
His back blocked the view, but the way he moved and the enjoyment twisting on my face would reveal exactly what we were doing.
The room was temperature controlled, but it was hot up here in the attic, and we both began to sweat. His temples were damp, and I felt the sticky cling of the lining of my dress to my back. My makeup was probably melting too, but it was worth it.
The push of his body inside mine was intense.
His nearly silent sounds grew louder and blurred into moans as he picked up the pace.
My arm trembled from the exertion of holding on to the bar to help distribute my weight, and I could tell his muscles were beginning to fatigue, but he was too focused to notice. The composed man I knew was fading away, replaced by this raw, need-driven male with a singular desire.
He rutted into me, thrust after thrust, slamming my body carelessly into the wall as he closed in on his goal. This was for him, for his enjoyment, his satisfaction. His aggressive, rough way was erotic. It doused me with more heat, and although I wasn’t close to coming, he’d been absolutely right. I wasn’t just enjoying it—I loved it.
Who’d have thought the best sex of my life would be when Macalister Hale screwed me against a wall?
The urgency of his punishing thrusts changed, becoming dire. The rough edges of his five o’clock shadow chafed against my cheek as he buried his mouth in the crook of my neck and bit down. It was like he was punishing me for how good I made him feel. And even though he pumped himself into me like I was nothing more than a hard, quick fuck, he didn’t let me think that.
“I own you.” He kissed away the discomfort from the spot he’d bitten. “So, you tell me,” he said between two mind-numbing thrusts, “I can finish inside you.”
I’d never had sex without a condom before, and holy shit, it felt good. What would it feel like when he came? “Yes,” I panted. “Oh, please, do it.”
He grunted like an animal, and the sound of this civilized man doing it caused me to quiver. It was savage. Brutal.
Necessary.
He came in a hot rush, spilling his seed inside my body, pulse after pulse of it. My internal muscles clenched on him like I could siphon off some of the ecstasy he was experiencing.
Macalister’s jerky movements came to a stop, and he held me, pinned to the wall with his cock still inside me, our sweaty bodies beginning to cool. His mouth moved across my cheek, searching mindlessly for my lips until he found them, and then delivered a slow, thorough kiss. It wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d assumed after sex he’d snap back almost instantly to his calm and collected state as he had after I’d gone down on him, but this version was out of sorts.
He seemed undone.
It was . . . sweet. His tentative, unsure manner reminded me of my first kiss years ago. How it seemed to have gone well for both of us, and we were thrilled, but then had no fucking idea what to do after we’d pulled it off.