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I sit up and grip his hair to hold on. My senses explode, my body jerking in reaction to the intense pleasure. The man is wrecking me, and my struggle to hang on splinters, breaking me in two. Air leaves my lungs, and my words are nothing but a pleading whimper when I say, “I’m going to come.” Oh God, am I ever going to come. So hard, I’m going to shatter in the most profound ways, ways there are no coming back from.
I throw my head back and my muscles convulse around him, shock waves rocketing through me as he nudges me over the edge until I’m flying. Flying and falling, living and dying all wrapped into one as the man frees my body in a way no one ever has before, in a way I’ve never been able to achieve solo.
I’m panting by the time he stops, but dark eyes meet mine, and giving me no reprieve, he tears my panties from my hips and pulls me back into the water. With my legs around him he backs up until he’s sitting on the steps, water lapping at his ankles.
He tugs his pants down, just enough to free his cock, and pulls me toward him. “Ride my cock, Peyton,” he demands. I widen my legs to straddle him and he growls as I reposition.
His crown presses against my opening, and delirious with need, he grips me and tugs me firmly down. I gasp as he fills me, and lean forward and lay my forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch my breath.
“I want you to ride me,” he growls into my ear. “I want to watch myself slide in and out of you.”
I savor the dirty, delicious way he wants me, the way he couldn’t even get his pants off before he had me on top of him.
“Look at what you’re doing to me,” he demands, his eyes dark and feral as I tear my gaze away and look between our bodies. I lift, and his erection is wet and slick as he slides out of me.
“So hot,” I say, my muscles rippling.
“Jesus, I feel you.” His body tenses as my thigh muscles burn. He grips my hips and manipulates my body to take the strain from my legs. He’s so damn strong he lifts me easily and pulls down until his steely length fills every inch of me. “Do you hate how hard you make me?” he hisses through clenched teeth.
“I hate it,” I cry out. “I hate your cock. Hate the way you fill me up. Hate when I shatter around you.”
“Keep riding me, Peyton.” My nails dig into his shoulder, but he doesn’t so much as wince. “I want you to make me come.”
Oh God, it’s crazy how much I love it when he talks dirty. I let him move me, twist me to the way he needs me, and he lifts his hips, powering into me. My body flushes hot, and I reach between us to stroke my clit.
“Yeah, just like that.” His nostrils flare, his lips part, and he thickens even more inside me. I’m so damn wet, his rapid thrusting picking up the pace until the friction is unbearable, control a thing of the past.
I briefly close my eyes, fearing I’m losing my damn grip on reality as this man drives into me, his fingers biting into my hips. Tomorrow I’ll have little bruises and the thought thrills me. He jerks me up, then pulls me down again, so goddamn hard, he hits my cervix, and draws another full-body release out of me.
“Roman,” I cry out, and practically collapse on top of him. My body shakes, a hard quiver, so powerful and intense, it leaves me trembling, on the brink of tears. Soothing hands drift up from my hips to wrap around me.
“I got you,” he says, and my heart squeezes at the tenderness in his voice. I move my body as he cradles me, rotate my hips around his thick cock, wanting more, wanting everything as a new, almost frightening kind of hunger takes hold. “Take what you need, Peyton,” he says, like he can see into my soul, understand I’m still that small frightened girl who asked for nothing. My throat squeezes tight, my hair falling forward as I lean into him. “Take everything you need,” he says, his voice rusty and harsh, thick with an emotion I can’t identify.
I rock against him, knowing I’ll never truly have what I need, not from him or any other man. My breasts rub against his face, and I lift, only to slowly sink back down. His hands move to my face and he cups my cheeks, bringing my mouth to his. He groans into my mouth, and I swallow his moans as he lets go, giving in to
the need gripping his body. I struggle to breathe with each hard pulse inside me.
“I feel you,” I murmur, the pleasure so intense as his release sears my insides and stimulates all my nerve endings, and I come again. “Oh my God, Roman,” I breathe into his mouth.
“I know, Peyton, I know,” he moans, and peppers kisses to my nose and cheeks and chin. “Jesus, I know,” he says. I inch back to take in the darkness in his eyes, the need he’s desperately trying to hide. Or maybe I’m imagining it. I’ve wanted for so long to be wanted and needed, maybe my mind is playing tricks on me and the sex is messing with my perception of reality. He cups the back of my head and brings my face to his shoulder. His hand strokes down my hair, his touch so soft and gentle, my stupid heart misses a beat. Once again, I let my mind wander, live in a fairy-tale world where Roman and I could be more. Is that what I want? I bask in it for a second, until his worried voice breaks the spell.
“Shit, we just made a big mistake.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roman
I LIFT HER from my lap, and we both collapse on the warm decking. The warm late-day sun disappears behind a heavy cloud, darkening the rooftop—not to mention my mood. Talk about a colossal mistake. What the hell is wrong with me? What was I thinking? Oh, maybe I wasn’t thinking—not with the head on my shoulders—because I simply couldn’t get inside this sweet girl fast enough, but goddammit she deserves better from me.
“Roman?” Peyton’s eyes are wide when they search mine, seeking answers, and the fear I see there is like a punch to the gut. Christ, I’m not even sure she’s breathing.
“I didn’t—” I begin, but stop when the worry in her eyes deepens, triggering a pang of unease deep inside me. I push the hair from her face. Shit, what is going through her mind? “I didn’t use a condom,” I tell her. “I completely forgot, and I’m so damn sorry.”
She nods and the breath she’d been holding leaves her lungs in a whoosh. “Is that all?” she finally says, and I put my hand on her shoulder, her muscles relaxing under my touch. Is that all? That’s her reaction? What the hell? I thought she’d be as upset as I am, but she seems to be okay with it. What am I missing here, or more importantly, what the hell did she think I was going to say? What could be worse than not using a condom, especially when we have no future?
I brush my thumb over her skin. “What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, and averts her gaze, but I’m not having any of that. I want openness and honesty between us. I cup her chin and bring her focus back to me. That’s when I see it, right there in the depths of her eyes. This sweet vulnerable girl puts a big smile on for the world but underneath it all, she’s still lost, still vulnerable, still thinks she’s unlikable...unlovable.
