Page 31 of Battle Scars

He whips my top over my head and throws it to the floor while I slide my hands under his T-shirt, letting my nails rake over his abs. I push the fabric up as high as I can before he grabs the material behind his neck and pulls it off. Then his mouth is back on mine, biting and nipping as he works my belt from my jeans.

I back away from him and try to catch my breath. Can I do this? Should I do this? It’s careless and rash and stupid. I shouldn’t play with fire or with a man like Gabe, but I also can’t stay away. With the way he burns me up, I feel like Icharus flying too close to his glorious sun.

And that’s my answer. Stupid or not. I’m going to take what he’s offering. This time, I know the score. Gabe is not mine to keep.

I pop the button on the top of my jeans and pull down the zipper. I take in the way he watches me as I push the material down my thighs and then step out of them. I stand in the middle of the living room in a light-pink lace thong and matching strapless bra, smirking at the hungry look on his face.

Then I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can to the stairs. I don’t hear him chasing me, maybe he didn’t feel like putting in the work when he could have a sure thing. Halfway up the stairs, an arm wraps around my bare middle, and I let out a squeak.

“You’ll pay for that, fresa,” he growls as he leans into me.

I drop to my hands and knees on the stairs.

My back is to him when he grabs the sides of my panties and pulls them down my legs, exposing the most intimate part of me. I try to crawl up the steps, but it must be the wrong thing to do, because he grabs my thighs in his big, rough hands, and then his mouth is on me. His tongue spears my center, and he does not let up as he eats me savagely.

“Yes,” I pant, tossing my head back.

I rock against his mouth as he destroys me one brutal kiss at a time. I gasp and call out his name as I come, and then he flips me to my back and looms over me. His golden eyes burn into my blue ones as he cups my pussy in a show of ownership.

I’m lost to him, caught in his hold over me, and I watch as he sinks a finger into my pussy. My eyes close, and I dig my nails into the carpeted treads of the stairs as he pumps his finger in and out of me.

When he adds a second, my eyes fly open and it feels like my body is slowly catching fire again. I haven’t yet caught my breath, but when his thumb scrapes against my sensitive clit, I don’t care that I’ll never breathe again.

“Gabe,” I gasp.

“That’s right.”

I grab his wrist. I don’t know whether it’s to stop him or to hold him where I need him. I just hold him while he works me, and I arch my back and rock my hips into his hand, chasing an orgasm I’ve never wanted more in my life.

“Not yet,” he says when I’m so close I could come with a single little flick of his clever thumb, but instead he pulls away from where I need him.

“No,” I cry out, but then he’s moving up and taking me with him as he throws me over his shoulder and lands a hard swat to my ass that cracks through the quiet house and makes my pussy clench,

I moan. “Yes.”

He lets out a grunt as he drops my back to the bed, and I watch, riveted, as he kicks off his boots and shucks off his jeans. In the waning light of the evening, he is nothing short of beautiful.

“Show me your tits,” he commands.

I reach behind me and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor. I want him to touch me like he did in the locker room.

“Touch them. Show me how you want it.”

I cup my breasts and let my thumbs skate over the hard tips. My back arches and I press my legs together. I was close before he carried me in here, and now I feel like I might die if I don’t come.

“Does that pretty pussy hurt?” he asks. His voice low, gritty and almost distracting as I watch him squeezing the root of his fat cock in his fist. God, he’s huge. So thick my fingers didn’t touch when I wrapped them around him.

“Uh-huh.” I nod.

“Good, baby. Spread your legs and show me where it hurts.” I do as he says and let my legs fall open. “Touch yourself. Show me, but don’t come.”

“Gabe,” I plead.

“Don’t. Come,” he orders. “If you do, I’ll be mad.”

“Yes,” I pant, unsure if I want him to be mad at me or not.

I trail my hand down my belly, from my breasts to between my legs, feeling my own wetness there, and moan. I put pressure on my clit, and my legs begin to shake.