Page 30 of The Turning of the Tables

He didn’t bother pushingme down on the bed, or even next to the bed, shoving me up against the desk just inside his hotel room, his hands already shoving my shirt off over my head. They ran down my back, rough and warm, his breath hot on my skin as he breathed against my spine.

He left his cheek there, against my back, air brushing my skin from his shallow, rasping breaths. Hands roamed lower, seeking and finding the fly of my jeans, undoing the button, lowering the zipper. Calloused fingers rubbed against my straining cock, the rough skin catching a little on the knit fabric keeping me constrained.

Elliot let out a small growl, shoving his hands inside my shorts and pushing them and my jeans out of his way before grinding against my ass, the hardness of his erection pressing against me even through his jeans as one hand gripped my cock and the other ran up my chest to find a nipple and pinch it between two fingers.

I gasped, rocking my hips backward to try to get closer, chasing what I knew both of us desperately wanted. Me maybe more desperately. Elliot growled again, deeper andlower, the vibrations sliding through my bones from where his chest pressed against my back.

“Don’t move,” he half-snarled, then left me, my knees a little shaky.

I heard him open a drawer, then, a breath later, felt him pushing against me again. A tube and a wrapped condom appeared on the desk beside my splayed fingers. And then his hands were back on my hips, gripping, massaging. His rough palms made circles on my ass cheeks, pressing into the muscle, gently spreading and then releasing, the motion only adding to my arousal.

“Elliot,” I managed to gasp out.

His hands pushed my ass cheeks apart, then he stood pushing himself up against the sensitive skin he’d exposed, the coarse fabric of his jeans rubbing against me as his hands slid up my back so that he could half-whisper, half-growl “What?” at me.

“Please,” I moaned as he ground against me.

“Pleasewhat?”

“I need you.”Rule Two, I reminded myself.Rule Two, Rule Two, Rule— I groaned as one lubed finger rubbed against the puckered muscle.

“Need mewhat?” he hissed back.

I whimpered. “Inside,” I managed.

The teasing finger obeyed, pressing in, rubbing, toying with me. Making me need more.

Just like I needed more than just this—than sex that left me sore for days in the best possible way, than occasional shared smiles over a meal. It wasn’t just that I wanted more—I needed it. Even though I knew it was beyond stupid to fall for Elliot Crane, I was doing it anyway. And, worse, I wasn’t even really trying to fight it, despite all the times I reminded myself about Rule Two.

Elliot made me feel things I hadn’t thought I could—not anymore, not since Devin. He made me want to trust him, to make space for him in my life, to make him laugh, to hold him if anything ever made him cry.

But he’d also made it crystal clear that he didn’t want any of that.

I groaned, a second finger interrupting my thoughts. Making it so that I couldn’t think. I wasn’t going to resist, letting Elliot’s fingers pull every string I had.

“That’s it,” I both heard and felt him whisper, his lips on my skin, the slight feathering movement as he spoke sending electricity through my body. “Loosen up for me.”

I tried to do as he asked, to relax the muscles despite the fact that every push, every stroke was driving me closer to the edge. I was panting, leaned forward so that my elbows and forearms rested on the desk, my head hanging down.

“Fuck,” I heard him hiss, and he pulled his hand back, drawing a whimper out of me with it. I stood there, my body open and loose, sweat beaded on my forehead and neck, waiting.

And then his hands came back, spreading me, and then I felt him, hard and hot, pressing slowly, thick and slicked with lube, into me. I arched my back, pushing back against him, wanting more of him faster than he was giving it to me.

He let out a strangled growl and did exactly what I wanted—pushing his full length in as deep as he could, hard and fast.

I cried out, but not with pain, as the feel of him slamming into me drove me over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me and spilling out, dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he gasped again.

“Don’t stop,” I managed, despite the tremors rushing through my body.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he slowly slid himself back until just the tip of him was still inside me, then surged forward again, slowly this time, letting my hypersensitized nerves feel every inch of him as he pressed inward until his hips met the curve of my ass. Then he did it again, the ridge of his head, even sheathed in latex, rubbing the inside of my body as he withdrew, then pushing forward again.

I lost myself in the feel of him, in the rhythm of his body, the stretch and pull, the ache of fullness followed by the ache of hollowness, one after the other, again and again. I wasn’t sure when the blood began to restore my spent cock, but it had, slowing growing harder, rising again between my legs, the stickiness of my cum still beaded on the tip.

That familiar, sweet heaviness returned to my balls, and I moaned softly, uncertain my legs would be able to hold me if he drove me to come again.

“That’s it,” Elliot panted, one rough-skinned hand pressing up my spine, drawing a shiver from me. “I want to feel you come for me again.” He sounded pleased with himself—as well he should be. I’d never felt so loose, his cock sliding in and out of me almost fluidly, each stroke increasing the speed of my pulse and stealing some of my breath.