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“Fuck,” he moans into my mouth, yanking his hand out of his pants to push them down. Rushing to get the cotton out of the way, his lips slide over mine carelessly, but he doesn’t stop the attention they offer me.
He manoeuvres himself and pushes my shirt up my abdomen as I pump him harder, faster, feeling him jerk and grunt. With my mouth mashed to his, I can’t see what his erection looks like, but if it’s anything like every other part of him, it’s the kind of perfectly formed that seems designed.
Then he breaks our kiss, his face tensing. His head falls back, his breath rough as he comes on my stomach with a primal growl, pumping, hot, powerful, the cum slapping my skin. He shakes, then stills.
Fatigued, he presses his forehead to mine until he’s empty, but his cock still throbs in my palm, wanting more.
Panting, he says, “Not what I was expecting. I just wanted to kiss you, Woman. And you jerk me off to damn near blindness. You trying to drain me?”
“Of sanity.” I laugh.
“Too late,” he says, and we smile at each other. He smells like a gym—sweat and man and rubber. It’s perfect. How a man should smell.
Dragging his eyes down my body to my belly, a provocative curve forms on his lips at the sight of his cum painted across my bellybutton. “I wish you could wear me all day, Woman.” He straddles me, up on his knees, his bulk is enough to crush me, but his thick quads bear the mass.
Taking the opportunity while he’s admiring his claim over my stomach like a damn Neanderthal, I glance down at the top four inches of his cock, peeking out from his sweatpants. It’s still hard. The smooth crown exposed, the foreskin bunched below, and two piercings skewing the skin underneath. And there is another bar that I can’t quite see.
When I look back up, his eyes are dark, and it makes my hips lift off the mattress. “Like what you see?” He pushes his pants down to display the entire thick length. I clutch at my heart like a woman being proposed to… I was right, it’s the Sistine Chapel of cocks.
Magnificent.
Fisting his cock, he strokes himself, showing me how quickly he can make himself hard again. “You’re stunning, Kaya,” he says roughly, stroking his cock in long, lazy pulls. “Tell me this means no more pushing me away. No more lies.”
A lump fills my throat.
I try to sit up, but he puts his hand around my throat, holding me down, pinned to the mattress. “Say it. No more lies. Let me take you out.”
There is this animal magnetism to Xander Butcher. Where he can be vulnerable and affectionate, playful even, like when you see a panther and pantheress curled together, seemingly kittenish, it’s easy to forget that within sheathes there are claws.
Then he does this, and he’s hot, a scorching wall of tight muscles and dominance, like when the panther mounts her, sinks his teeth into her fur and holds her down.
Xander is both.
He has a contronym personality.
“You’re a contronym, Xander,” I say.
“Yeah?” He nods, letting me have this one. “Why do you say that, Woman?”
I can’t hide my smile. “Because you look like you can’t decide whether to brush my hair, lick me, or bite me so hard, sink in so deep—”
“That I can taste your soul.”
“So deep it hurts,” I finish.
“Most things worth feeling do.”
I lose breath. His passion, it’s— It’s not normal, but I want it. Yet, I feel my heart thrash and then twist, my mind fighting to stay in the present, to not drift to yesterday at Kenno’s, to the resignation, the advertisement, the photos.
“Your cum is drying on my stomach.” I laugh, changing the subject. “It’s sticky.”
He leans down to mash our lips together, stealing the sound while squeezing more from my throat with his fist.
“I have a fight in two days,” he says through our kiss, relaxing his fist to allow me breath. “Come. Watch. Lick my wounds after.” His voice drops. “I’ve never had a girlfriend at a fight. I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
Girlfriend?Swept up in that word, in Xander Butcher, the most beautiful and brutal boy in the city, I murmur, “Girlfriend?”
“Lick my wounds.”
