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Chapter Five
Briarlee
He said he’d find me.
And he did.
I’m not sitting at home waiting for his call, because he never took my number. I’m sitting at home waiting for… what, for him to come to the door? That seems so stupid.
Until a heavy knock makes it not stupid.
I know it’s him even before I open the door. I can sense him. Almost smell him, though it’s not really a scent thing. It’s an animal knowing that her mate is near.
I open the door. It is him. He fills the entire doorway. He’s taller than it is. He’ll have to stoop when he comes through. And he’ll have to twist sideways slightly to allow his shoulders to pass through. This is a beast of a man. He makes me small.
“Hello,” I smile, instantly nervous. He looks at me with those smoldering eyes and I’m really not sure of myself anymore. He changes the rules of living. He makes me want things no sensible woman wants.
He wraps his arms around me and hauls me close, pushes his handsome face into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply.
“Mine,” he growls under his breath. “Only mine.”
He starts stripping me without a word. The clothes are in his way and they have to be gone. I offer no resistance. Everything he wants to take from me, I want to give. He handles me like a doll, lifting me easily up in the air so my head is near the ceiling, my legs wrapping around his neck as he buries his mouth in my cunt, tasting my desire and his seed from the night before.
I cry out, held securely in those great big hands that palm my ass and hips. He laps along my slit, pushes his tongue inside me, makes me take every bit of it before pulling it out. I am being tongue fucked up against the ceiling of my little apartment and it is perfect.
Before I can come, he starts lowering me down. He draws his nose up from my pussy over my stomach, his lips tasting me every inch of the way.
“Mine,” he repeats.
My mind is whirling. My body is crying out for him. This is possession as I have never known it. This is a desire that has us both captive. He needs me and I need him.
Again he puts me into the position he wants me in. Face down, over the back of the couch. I feel more like a toy than a woman as he parts my thighs and pushes his cock between them, up deep inside me. He starts to fuck me with hard, powerful strokes that jolt me against the couch over and over again. My hands are in his hair, pulling at him as he slams inside me. I want this. Oh, god, I fucking want this.
He fucks me like he’s been starving for me. He consumes my body, devours it in rough strokes, gripping my hips with his powerful hands, holding me in place for the taking.
This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is like the ravaging I was given last night, but even more intense for being the second round. My body wore his marks and ached in the aftermath of his lust. Now it is being stretched again, pounded again.
He comes, fills me up while I writhe and moan. Again it is quick. His hunger for me doesn’t allow soft, languid lovemaking. It requires swift, rough satiation. My orgasm matches his. My pussy produces its own liquid desire that mingles with his cum as he pulls free and lets our juices run down my inner thighs.
“You’re a mess,” he rumbles. “We should take a shower.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom. This is a single bedroom place, so it’s not hard to find. I follow him in a well fucked trance, doing as he says, just because it feels somehow right.
I have gone through so much of my life feeling wrong. I have let myself believe that I’m not worthy of goodness. I have let men treat me badly, and maybe this one is treating me badly too… but if this is bad, why does it make me feel so happy?
He drives the thoughts from my head with another searing kiss, delivered now under the hot pelting drum of water on high pressure.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t know if he’s married.
It didn’t even occur to me until this moment to wonder that. He doesn’t seem like the marrying kind. He barely seems like the marrying species. There’s something about him closer to animal than man.
The water flows over his body and mine. Our hands move over one another with more gentleness now. Every time I try to speak, he cuts me off with a kiss, and finally, when I keep trying to make words happen, he gently, but firmly pushes me down to my knees.
