I knew he liked to tease. To torment. To make me beg. But to stop at a time like that was just cruel.
When I forced my gaze to focus on him, though, it wasn’t a wicked smirk that twisted his lips.
They were pressed flat, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at me with devastating sadness in his eyes. His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. His tight words sounded like they were forced out through sandpaper and shards of that broken tequila bottle. “I’ve wanted this since the first night I saw you on that roof. But I don’t want this to be something you regret.”
I lifted my hands. Not to fuss with my own hair in a nervous tell that would expose my doubts—there were none to expose. Instead, I gently pushed his overgrown hair from his forehead as I told him the truth. “Never. That wouldneverhappen.”
When he held the intense eye contact, I added a head shake for emphasis.
He stilled the motion as he gripped my jaw. With one last searching, searing look, he dropped his head toward mine. The point-three seconds must’ve still been too long for him because his fingertips dug in as he roughly yanked me up to meet him halfway. His kiss was powerful and all-consuming, and I would happily get lost in it.
Afterhe stopped tormenting me with the tease of his cock.
The earnest rock of my hips was enough to get my point across.
“I’ll go slower next time,” Tripp bit out between kisses. When he eased back, he bit my bottom lip and scrapped his teeth across the swollen flesh as he lifted away. His hold moved to my shoulder and my hip, pinning me firmly in place. And then he surged in so hard, the force would’ve pushed me up the bed if not for his grip.
He filled me.
Stretched me
Bottomed out completely until I swore I could feel him in my chest.
He didn’t pause to give my body time to adjust to his size. With that last tenuous thread of his control snapped, Tripptook. His thrusts were powerful, the metal through his cock dragging along my nerves in a way that was far from unpleasant.
They weren’t the restraints of the bondage room, but his large hands had the same effect. His fingertips would leave bruises as he kept me where he wanted.
Used me how he needed.
I’d never come from sex alone. In all honesty, I’d always thought there was something wrong with me that I couldn’t.
Okay, I’d been made to feel like there was something wrong with me. That I was broken. Defective. That it was my neurotic need to control things and my tendency to stress that was to blame. It’d been easier to fake it than to start a fight that ended with me offering reassurances and getting shame in return.
But there was nothing fake about the rapidly building tension that coiled low in my stomach, making me spread my legs farther to get more of the delicious friction against my clit.
I didn’t need to try to control the situation or overthink. Tripp read my body and moved his hand from my hip to splay across my pelvis. His thumb stretched down, and he worked my clit with quick, unwavering circles.
The added sensation tightened the coil until it was too much. Too overwhelming. Despite my desperation to get it, my legs fought to close, but he just widened his own knees to open me more, all without losing his rhythm as he surged deep with every unhinged thrust.
It was more than I could stand.
I exploded.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
Shattered into a billion jagged pieces.
Tripp continued his onslaught through it all, not easing the pressure as he knit me back together with the clear intention of shredding me again.
Licking my lips, I tried to beg him to stop.
To keep going.
To take pity on me.
To never,everstop.
