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“That’s it,” he whispers. “Come for me.”

His words push me over the edge.

A scream rips from me as I quiver, the orgasm washing over me.

He continues moving his fingers and thumb, milking every drop of pleasure from me as I soak his fingers.

Once my pussy has stopped squeezing his digits, he slows down, then pulls them out of me.

I collapse onto the bed, my head turned toward him.

“Mmm,” he moans, shoving the two fingers that were inside me into his mouth. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Do you have a condom? I really want you to fuck me.”

He chuckles and bends down, kicking his pants off. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket.

“It’s your lucky night. I still have one tucked in here…” he opens it. “Somewhere.”

Oh God. I hope he does. Because I’m about to do something stupid like let him inside me without one.

And I never do that.

“Here it is.” He holds it up, then rips it open and sheathes himself.

Then he flips me over so I’m on my back.

He cups my chin. “Gorgeous.”

His lips find mine while his hardness rests against my soaked entrance. He kisses me until I’m breathless, then pulls back.

“There’s something about you.” Heat burns in his whiskey eyes. “You’re different.”

I don’t even have time to ask what he means. Not when he starts sliding the head of his cock against my clit.

All I can do is slide my hands beneath his blazer and shirt, my nails digging into his skin.

He grabs his jacket and tugs it off. His unbuttoned shirt follows, lying in a pile on my floor.

He resumes teasing my clit with his cock, not missing a beat.

“Oh, please. I need you inside⁠—”

I gasp as he shifts and slowly slides inside me, inch by inch. The man is long and thick. Quite impressive, really.

We’re chest to chest as he bottoms out, filling and stretching me.

“Fuck, Chaos. So damn tight.”

I cling to him, nails digging into his skin as he starts moving. It’s a mix of pain and pleasure as he stretches me, studying my face as he moves.

God, this man is addictive.

I’ve never had anyone care about my pleasure—or pain—the way he does.

I arch my hips, meeting his thrusts.

“Please,” I whisper. “Faster.”