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Chapter forty
After Chandler moved my panties back in place, then proceeded to press his fingers deep into the fabric, soaking it with me, with him, we sat up. Still naked, he stretched his legs out in front of him, propping his feet on a glass coffee table. One arm splayed along the back of the sofa, while the other draped over my shoulder and pulled me against his side. I was lost in the warmth of him, the scent of him, the scent ofus. The scent of sex.
I forced myself to look somewhere other than down at his half-erect cock. “You aren’t going to freak out and start hating me again, are you?”
“I don’t hate you.” His voice was softer, calm, nothing like the callous monster who had once almost strangled me in his kitchen.
“You sure about that?” I smiled, unable to stop it.I don’t hate you.
“Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions?”
How else was I supposed to learn anything from a man who refused to let me in?
His cock twitched against his stomach. I watched as it grew harder and thicker every second. This time I didn’t make myself look away.
He looked down at me, his eyes dark. “It’s yours if you want it.”
“What?”
“My dick. You keep staring at it like a hungry dog.” He grinned, and my insides turned to mush. “I’m just waiting for you to start panting.”
Always the asshole.
I rolled my lips shut, even though his words sent a shot of heat straight to my core. Tightness coursed through my bloodstream, down my spine, clenching my stomach, and making my nipples hard.
Chandler smirked, then moved his hand from my shoulder, dusting a fingertip over my nipple, mocking my body’s visible reaction. “Take it, Little Rebel. Wrap those gorgeous lips around my cock.”
His words sent my mind straight back to that day on my bed—to the twisted, cruel, savage moment that should have ended us but only opened the door and invited me into his darkness.
This time, he was asking for permission. Well, asking for permission as much as Chandler Carmichael knew how to. And I was desperate to give it to him, to taste him, to be used by him, to please him. I bent down in his lap, inches from where he stroked his cock. Thick veins swelled beneath silky skin. His crown was thick and glossy, his length intimidating. I brushed my lips over the head, wetting them with his arousal.
Since the first time I saw Chandler, he’d been detached and cold as though ice ran through his veins. I wanted to be the one to make him melt. I wanted that power.
“This is mine, too,” he said, painting my lips in more precum before he pushed the tip inside my mouth. “I won’t stop until I own every inch of you.” My tongue swirled around the head, and he pushed in deeper. Then deeper. I sucked him in, inch by inch, curling my tongue around him the best I knew how.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he rasped. “Take it all.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he thrust his hips. I fought for a breath, and he thrust again. And again. Brutal and unapologetic, filling my mouth, stretching me. Choking me.
Books didn’t tell you this. Movies didn’t show you. There were no words or instruction manuals. Being owned by a man like Chandler Carmichael was only something to be experienced.
I gagged when he hit the back of my throat. Spit spilled from the corners of my mouth and down my chin, and tears stung my eyes. My fingers dug into the sides of his thighs, pushing him away, then pulling him closer.
With one hand, he reached down and swept a tear off my cheek. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you look like this?”
My heart splintered open and my body burned with the need to know this man, to make him let me in, to seep inside him the way he’d seeped inside me.
His cock pulsed against my tongue. I squeezed harder, pumping him faster. He threw his head back against the sofa and bucked his hips harder and faster. His hand fisted in my hair, guiding me, controlling me, using his grip as an anchor to fuck my mouth.
“Touch yourself, baby. Play with your pussy while I fuck your mouth.”
Heat shot up my spine. My panties were soaked, with me, withhim. I felt the cotton rubbing against my clit every time I moved, which only made me move more. Grinding, needing, seeking. My pulse pounded in my ears as my blood rushed through my veins. Desire crested and swelled inside of me until I almost came just from his pleasure. I ran my hand over my pussy, cupping it gently before sinking a finger inside.
A low, feral growl vibrated deep in his chest, urging me to keep going. I pushed the palm of my hand against my clit, adding pressure there, friction, while I thrust my finger in and out.
“Tell me to stop. Tap my thigh. If you don’t, I’m going to come down your fucking throat.” His hips slowed almost to a halt, and he loosened his grip in my hair.
I didn’t tap.
I didn’t tell him to stop.
