Page 56 of No Greater Oblivion

“Take the win, Alex. Because I’m doing this whether you want me to or not.” My hand drops to his waist and I unbuckle his belt. He’s practically straining against his slacks when I grip him by the base, stroking softly to alleviate the pressure. “If you want me to give you space, to stop asking questions, I will. I’ll wait until you’re ready to come to me yourself.”

I glide my fingers along the shaft and tighten my grip, letting my nails graze the sensitive skin there. He grunts and clenches his jaw.

“But you’re not keeping me prisoner in this house. So either tell me what’s going on or let me attend class in peace. Your choice.”

“I can’t…believe…” He struggles to keep his composure when my fingers run all the way down to the tip and move in slow circles. “You’re using sex as an instrument of torture.”

I smile at my own ingenuity. “I know. It’s so fun, isn’t it?”

“Fine,” he grinds out.

“Sorry, what was that?” I wrap my hand around him completely and pump hard and fast. “I didn’t hear⁠—”

It happens in an instant.

He seizes me by the waist and flips me onto my stomach, clearing the table as he goes. I gasp when his hand wraps around the back of my neck and he lays me flat against the breakfast table.

“Grip the edge,” he orders quietly.

Heart pounding in my chest, I do as he says. I extend my arms and grip the edge of the table, but just barely. My fingertips keep slipping.

I can feel the shape of him against me and the riotous beating of his own heart between my shoulders blades as he leans forward and pushes my hair aside. He kisses along my shoulder and then up the side of my neck where he stops just below my ear.

“I want Pedro glued to your hip. Understood?” Alejandro slips his hand under the hem of my nightgown where his fingers dance across the skin of my thighs. The rough brush of his gloves is almost…thrilling. It feels forbidden to have such a rough touch somewhere as soft and delicate as the heat between my legs. As if reading my thoughts, he pushes his thumb against my clit and rubs, creating friction between my skin and the cotton underwear.

I whimper and he rubs again. More insistent, more deliberate.

“You don’t leave this house without him.”

“I promise,” I rasp. “I promise, I won’t.”

I arch my back into him, craving more of his touch, but he pulls his hands away. Instead, he drags them up the length of my body, over my abdomen, and grips my breasts in his palms. The delicious scrape of his gloves against my sensitive nipples sends my mind spiraling out of control. He rubs, pinches, caresses, all the while thrusting against me from behind, allowing me to feel every hard, thick inch of him without actually entering me.

Fuck.

This is what I get for weaponizing sex.

“Ask me nicely,” he says and there’s a bit of humor in his voice as he pinches my nipples hard enough to draw a throaty moan from my lips. “I love it when you make those sounds.”

I have two options. Walk away or sacrifice my pride and dignity by asking for what I want. Which is to be fucked senseless on our kitchen table. I want the damn thing to be split in half by the time he’s done with me.

I clench my jaw and stand my ground. I wouldn’t have had to stoop this low if he wasn’t being so difficult in the first place!

He leans down. Whispers in my ear. “Either you ask nicely or I’ll fuck you loud enough for the whole house to hear.”

My whole body burns with a blush.

Sometimes, I forget we live with other people. The house is massive and we rarely, if ever, cross paths with anyone. At least, not on purpose and not downstairs. Usually it’s either up in the main foyer or the living room which functions more like a family room. It never occurred to me we could be heard or found out…

It is as terrifying as it is thrilling.

After a second, I hear him laugh.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs. I clench my thighs together in response. “Let me in.”

I refuse. If he wants me, he’s going to have to work a little harder. Especially since he ruined my plan⁠—

Without warning, he lifts my hips, yanks me to the edge of the table, and pistons into me with a single, brutal thrust. I cry out and scramble for purchase against the tabletop, reaching for the edge so I can hold on for balance, but he continues his relentless assault, holding me at an angle where not even my feet touch the ground. He pounds into me like I’m nothing more than an instrument for his pleasure, skin and bone without feeling. The raw, intimate sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the room, mingling with breathy moans.