Page 26 of Battle Scars

“You like what you do to me?” he growls.

“Yes,” I answer in a whisper.

He uses his free hand to grab my other wrist and lift it over my head, holding it securely with the other.

“If I pulled down your bra, would your nipples be hard?” he asks.

I gasp at his coarse words, but the undeniable truth is there for him to see if he follows up his words with actions.

“Yes.”

He keeps me anchored to the lockers behind me. With just a finger, he parts my fire suit to gape open even more and then hooks the cup of my bra and yanks swiftly until my flesh pours over the top. His touch whispers over my hard tip, barely even touching me, yet he sets me on fire.

He circles my nipple with his fingertip over and over until I’m arching my back, against my own will, to get more from him, and then he pinches it hard.

I gasp at the intrusion and moisture pools between my thighs. If he does it again, I might come.

“And if I undid this belt and touched your pussy, would you be wet for me?”

“Yes,” I gasp as the plastic belt clacks open.

He leans into me, resting more of his weight against me, pinning me to the lockers. His mouth is just a breath away from mine. Not kissing me but I want him to so badly.

“And if I fucked you with my fingers right now, would you come for me?” he asks as he kicks my legs wide with his booted foot.

“Yes.”

“Damn right you would.”

And then with his palm flat to my belly, he dips his hand into my suit, into my panties, until he spears me with two thick fingers. He drives them in with one thrust, pushing me to my tiptoes.

He pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy, the harsh sounds mingling with my heavy breaths. His hazel eyes are locked on mine as he drives me higher and higher. There is no play, no gentleness as he pushes me hard toward the climax that’s barreling down on me.

He presses his thumb to my clit, and I detonate around his fingers. I come harder than I ever have before, and he opens his mouth over mine and drinks in my whimpers, my cries, as I fall apart in his arms.

He lets me come back to myself, but he still holds my hands over my head.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You get off on making my dick hard.”

“Yeah.”

“You like what you do to me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“You want it, baby, just say the word. I won’t stop you if you want to get on your knees and suck me off.”

And even through the harsh tone, more wetness hit my thighs, his coarse words turning me on.

“Yeah,” he says, still just as quietly. “She wants it.”

I had forgotten his hand was still between my legs and he can feel it too.

“I want it,” I repeat his words. I want to give him what he gave me.

He lets go of my wrists, but doesn’t step away, so I drop to my knees in front of the lockers, my back scrapping against the little slats in them as I go and I don’t fucking care.

I quickly slide my arms out of my sleeves—my fire suit hangs around my waist—exposing my breasts pushed up over the cups of my bra. His eyes heat as he looks down at me, and I fucking love it. I love that I can turn him on, that I can make him burn the way he makes me.