Page 79 of Floodgates

My belt buckle loosened, the button and zipper fly gave way, and he slid his hand under the waistband of my briefs to my rigid, leaking dick.

“Oh fuck,” I whined softly, bucking up into his fist, shivering with the desire to come and see it on him. The idea must have shown on my face, because he narrowed his eyes in a look that was all predator.

“Tell me,” he demanded, and the darkness in his voice made my breathing falter. “And don’t fuckin’ lie.”

As if I could.

“Now,” he rasped.

“I want to come on your skin… on your gorgeous abs and your beautiful chest.”

“Because?”

My voice was ragged and choppy. “I’ve always wanted to, to see… to watch.”

“While you’re riding my cock,” he growled low in his chest. It was a statement, not a question, because he knew the answer already, probably always had.

“Cord,” I whined softly.

But he had me, literally, and I saw his hooded eyes before he began to slowly nibble along my jaw. “I’ve been waiting for this—for you.”

He wanted me too, and suddenly I was dizzy with the implication.

“All the time,” he said, his voice going out on him. “At night, in bed… it’s you.”

It was too much. I couldn’t go from nothing to having the deepest wish in my secret heart granted.

Yes, I had loved Breckin Alcott, and if he hadn’t cheated the second time, I might even have forgiven him. The man had been a gift, someone I thought I’d never have being simply me, plain, ordinary Tracy Brandt. But the tucked-away dream, the one covered under layers of denial and banter and indifference was this, was him: Cord Nolan.

Even if nothing worked, even if we crashed and that killed all semblance of civility so we wouldn’t even be able to stand to be in the same room together ever again… even then, it was worth it to try. I would gamble my heart because it was time to leap and not look.

“I will beat you if you ever go near Breckin Alcott again.”

I nodded and suddenly realized that he had to get his hand off me; I was susceptible to him, to our history and his strength, to my endless hunger for him. “Let go.”

“No.”

“Please,” I begged, trying to stop my body from surging toward climax even as I writhed in his grip.

“No,” he repeated gruffly, milking my length, stroking fast, expertly, the vise of his hand and the drooling precum making the motion fluid and perfect.

I tried to stifle the sound of his name as I wiggled and shifted in my seat, going suddenly rigid as I came, spurting thick ribbons of cum over his clenched fist, wrist, and heavily veined forearm.

“When we’re alone, I expect you to scream if you need to.”

He was trying to kill me, saying things like that.

As I stared at him, trying to keep from panting, from making any noise at all, he ground his mouth down over mine; taking in my soft, decadent moans as he kissed me and smiled at the same time. Shoving away from him, I met his heated stare. “I’m funny?”

“No,” he assured me with a low chuckle. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I should have done this a long fuckin’ time ago,” he said crossly, recapturing my mouth and devouring me. I had never, ever, kissed anyone like Cord. His kisses were seductive and rough and ravishing, and I wanted more.

He let me go, my flagging cock slipping from his cum-covered fingers, and I adjusted myself fast, tucked in, zipped up, and buckled as he wiped himself off with the napkins from dinner he’d stuffed in the pocket of his seat.

I couldn’t look at him—the only image in my head was me under him in bed.