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Bellamy’s hands closed over my breasts, squeezing, then rolling my nipples until I was grinding wildly back against him, desperate for relief from the aching emptiness between my thighs.
Reaching between us, he yanked up my dress again. A moment later, I felt his bare cock rubbing against the fabric of my panties, rocking against my cleft, just barely engaging my clit, making me need to arch my ass up to get the sensation I needed.
“Fuck me,” I demanded, rocking against him as he lazily thrust against my pussy. “Bellamy,” I whimpered, but to no avail.
On a grumble, I yanked away, turning, and going down on my knees in front of him, closing my mouth around his cock. A surge of pleasure moved through me at his surprised groan as my tongue teased over the head before I sucked him deep.
My eyes opened when I had my mouth swallowing up his cock, finding his gaze on me, eyes blazing.
“Fuck,” he hissed as his hand slammed on the back of my neck, making my stomach swirl because he—unlike me—didn’t curse that much, so getting such a savage sound out of him was a testament to how good he was feeling, how much power I had over him right then.
His other hand grabbed the back of my neck, and before long, I wasn’t sucking him off; he was fucking my mouth. Hard, fast, deep, barely giving me a chance to breathe or calm my gag reflex as his body got tight, as his breathing got quick and shallow.
But just when I was sure he was going to come down my throat and deny me the feeling of him inside me, his hands were grabbing my hair, yanking me backward by it, then pulling me to my feet with it.
I had no idea what it said about me that I liked it when he got rough with me, but I was choosing to think it was just a primal response to knowing I’d gotten to him so deeply.
The next thing I knew, he’d rolled on a condom, then slammed me back against the wall, pulled off my panties, yanked up my leg, and thrust inside me. Hard, deep, taking every inch of me immediately, making my neck curl, burying my face in his neck, muffling my moan.
He gave me no time to adjust.
He just jerked my leg up higher, pinning it to the wall, and fucking me.
Fast.
Relentless.
Driving us both up toward that edge.
“Oh, my G—“ but before I could even finish crying that out, the orgasm was ricocheting through my system. “Bell…” I cried, clinging to him as the waves kept crashing and crashing as he kept thrusting and thrusting, dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth before slamming deep, and coming with my name on his lips.
We stayed like that for what felt like a lifetime, panting, hearts pounding, clinging to each other. I couldn’t speak for him, but I felt like I’d shattered apart, and some irrational part of me was afraid that if I let go, I might crumble.
Eventually, though, those idiotic dopamine and oxytocin thoughts slipped away, letting my rational mind take over again.
Damnit.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Sweet Shawn is gone already, huh, love?” Bellamy asked, taking a step back, looking at me as I yanked my straps back on my shoulders, covering up.
“There is no such thing as a sweet Shawn,” I informed him, yanking my chin up even as he turned away from me, going toward the door.
He was probably looking for a way to toss the condom.
But I took advantage of his distraction, and rushed past him and back into the party before he could catch me.
Thankfully, the most boring part of the evening was in full swing, meaning everyone was seated and listening to various people prattle on about who had donated what, so I could just hustle over to the table with my family, and Bellamy would be forced to go to his own table.
“Where have you been?” Nasir asked, voice low, as I sat down at the table.
“Shawn, darling, are you not feeling well?” my aunt asked, dark brows pinched. “You look flushed.”
“I think I am just still feeling a little off from the jet lag,” I told them, figuring Nasir would have told them about my supposed impromptu trip already.
“I hope you didn’t catch something,” my uncle said, looking a little green at the idea.
See, Nasir got a bit of his anxiety from his father. While my uncle wasn’t quite as high-strung as Nasir was, he’d always been incredibly hypochondriacal. Anytime someone so much as sniffled or sneezed or cleared their throat around him, he was spraying the air around you in lemon-scented disinfectant spray.
They looked similar as well, with my uncle just growing a bit gray at the temples, and sporting a mustache we’d been trying to get him to shave off for years.
