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“You don’t want this,” he said, his voice wooden. That wasn’t what I needed.
I needed him to be desperate.
Hungry.
For me.
God, just for me.
As if that was even doable.
My eyes shuttered to a close as I moved nearer to him, not stopping until I shifted one leg over his hips, before I reared up, pinning him in place as I rocked onto my knees. When I was straddling him, I pressed my pussy against his hardness, wishing I was wet, wishing that I wanted this as I started to shimmy my hips, dragging his length along mine.
Most men would have lain back and taken what I was offering.
This was the first lesson Brennan gave me that taught me he was not like most men.
Though my sight had adjusted, the room was still couched in shadows, a thick gloom that made it hard to see anything other than a blur beneath me. I didn’t expect his hands to snatch at mine, didn’t anticipate him twisting us around so that he was on top of me and I beneath him.
For a second, relief soared inside me, like a firework display on July Fourth—my cup truly runneth over. Then, he moved off me. Shifting to the side so his weight no longer covered me.
A disappointed moan rushed from my lips, the mewling sound so piteous that it was no wonder he didn’t want me.
Would he cancel the wedding now?
I needed him more than ever, but I’d fucked up by being the worst seductress.
I tried to reach for him, but before I could, he jerked my hands to the point of discomfort then raised them overhead. When he pinned them in place, he pressed his knee between mine then, with his spare hand, pinched the sparse flesh of my thigh and wordlessly encouraged me to part my legs.
A shaken breath escaped me, one loaded with hope until his hand pressed against my core, and he slipped his fingers through the boxer briefs I wore.
When he encountered dryness, chalky flesh that was proof I wasn’t the least bit aroused, he rasped, “Just as I thought.”
I imagined he’d back off, tell me to get out of his room, but he didn’t. His fingers stayed exactly where they were, but his mouth whispered along my jaw as he trailed his lips up from my chin to my ear.
“W-What did you think?”
His tongue flickered out to lash at my earlobe, making me gulp as he whispered, “If you’re not wet, then why are you in here, acting like a slut?”
The word, to anyone else, would have been an insult.
Years ago, it would have been to me too, but I’d been a clubwhore, and I’d been called names a thousand times worse than that.
“If you think you can tie me to you through your cunt, you need to learn that I’m not like most men.” He patted my pussy. “You have a problem with sex?”
I blinked at that, shaking my head quickly. “N-No, of course not.”
The tips of his fingers unerringly found my clit, which had tremors rushing down my spine as he didn’t just rub it like it was a magic button he expected to press so that I’d miraculously orgasm, but he caressed it with a gentleness I didn’t foresee.
He wasn’t careful, just considerate. Touching it in a way that I would, that had memories of the few times I’d ever masturbated surging to the fore. My hips shifted down, my butt digging into the bed and I spread my legs a little wider so that I felt the pull of the muscles where thigh met groin. He carried on, and on. Fingering me like he didn’t have a care about time slipping out of our grasp, but I felt his dick digging into me so I knew that wasn’t true.
A part of me wanted to shout hosannas that he was hungry for pussy—if not mine in particular just a random hole he needed to fill. That was almost enough to have me sagging into the bed, arousal whispering through me. Later on, that other rational part of me would recognize how pathetic I was, but for now, his lips were on my ear lobe, and his breathing was all I could hear aside from my own heartbeat.
A shimmer of heat drifted over my body, making my insides feel heavy as everything seemed to turn inward. My focus, my thoughts, even my sight. It was like earlier, when I’d known he was taking me to heights I’d never reached before. I no longer thought about whether he was hard, no longer struggled against his grip on my wrists. I just let him pet me.
Because that was what he was doing.
Petting me.
