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* * *
His mouth won’t release mine, the scruff of his stubble burning the skin around my lips as he takes what he wants, pinning me down to the bed with his kisses. And then, finally, I have him in my hand, my palm closing around a stiff shaft. He closes his eyes and pulls away from my body.
“Wait. Take off your skirt.”
* * *
I shimmy the fabric down and off, watching as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth, the intensity of his stare causing my breath to hitch and my mouth to water. I spread my legs before him, opening myself fully, his eyes feasting on the sight, and he kneels on the bed before me, stroking the latex of the condom down his cock.
* * *
“I know what you like,” he grounds out, pressing on my opening with his stiffness. The smooth head of his latex-covered cock pushes slightly in, his face tightening when my body accepts him, my velvet lips sliding around his cock, already wet, already ready. “I’ve watched you fuck so many times that I feel like I’ve had you. Do you like when he fucks you?” He thrusts forward, my eyes closing at the sensation, a moan spilling out of my mouth. His hands flip my legs over, turning me to my side, his torso coming down, his mouth taking a greedy tour of my breast while he pumps his hips, his cock dragging slowly in and out, stretching me, the angle perfect in its sensation.
* * *
“Do you, Candy? Do you like his cock?” His words are a demand, gasping out of him, his breath haggard as he moves.
* * *
I don’t answer, pulling his head down on my breasts, gasping when his mouth covers my nipple, sucking it, his eyes on me, teeth gently scraping my sensitive skin. I roll to avoid the eye contact, facing the mattress, bringing my knees beneath me and arching my back, his body moving with me, his cock beginning a faster movement, pumping in and out as his hands roam over my ass and along the line of my back.
* * *
“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he groans. “Being inside of you. I jack off to you at night, Candy. I picture your perfect mouth sucking my cock. I think about you, just like this, bent over before me, waiting for me.”
* * *
I can’t respond, my mind arguing with my body that this is wrong, that I should pull off his body and walk away. But my body loves his words, loves the depth of the passion. I love the feeling of him inside of me, his hands now cupping my breasts, his mouth planting kisses along my back as he continues his fuck. A desperate, hurried fuck, as if he is worried that I will disappear, and he needs his fill of me first.
* * *
He is not Nathan. Our bodies do not mold in perfect synchronization, our arches and valleys do not coincide. There are times when he moves left and I move right. But he has fire for me; he cares. He is a living, breathing man who has the capacity to love, who looks at me and sees something more than a contract.
* * *
He returns me to my back, his body settling above me, his mouth softening on mine, kissing me tenderly as his strokes bring me there, to the point where my mind stops thinking and I come, my body clenching and contracting around him, causing his eyes to shut and, a moment later, his own finish to come.
CHAPTER 29
Life in wealth is a beautiful thing. Our streets are unclogged, our nights mosquito-free, our comfort managed and attended to twenty-four hours a day. My latest hobby is speeding, pressing the gas pedal hard enough to feel a slight vibration in my legs, my Mercedes jumping to attention, hugging the streets with a purpose. I have been pulled over twice, both times given a warning, despite my generous attempt to accept a ticket. Attempt is putting it lightly. I practically begged the officer to write me a ticket, to allow me a bad girl moment. But apparently in this county, where the streets are lined in gold and the property taxes cover more than ten times the city’s budget, ticket revenue is not needed. Laws can be broken with only a slap on your diamond-studded wrist.
* * *
My tires squeal slightly as I make a too-tight, too-fast turn into the bookstore parking lot. Our corner of Nashville refuses something as tacky as a book superstore, chain stores apparently frowned upon by the uber-rich. We have no Applebees, no Gaps, no Walmarts, those storefronts replaced with organic markets, wine bars, and boutiques owned by bored housewives.
