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I lunge at him, pressing my mouth to his. His hands move to my hair, fisting in the long locks at my nape.
It’s so wrong it feels right. Or maybe it’s so right it feels right. Whichever, I give myself over to him. In my kiss, I show him how I want to be taken. How he can take me. The kind of hot sex no other man has come close to giving me.
“Clark.” His name leaves me on a groan, straight into his mouth. He lifts my hips, pulling me further onto his crotch.
I grind against him, swirling my tongue around his in the same rhythm. A low, animalistic growl comes from him as he hoists me up. I grip his hips with my legs as he stands, his hands squeezing my arse cheeks, my hands holding his face as I stare into his magnetic silver-blue irises. My chest swells and my stomach does somersaults as he carries me to his room.
I’m crazy. It’s official. I don’t just need a therapist; I need pills, lots of pills. Or maybe even electroconvulsive therapy. Yep, that should do it.
He kicks the door shut behind us and presses me back against it, lowering my legs to the floor. I’m not in control at all, I’m completely out of control. He’s bad for me, but I can’t resist him. I can feel my eyes widen and fear set in. Even with the lights dimmed low, I can tell by his face that it registers with him.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I’m not expecting him to stroke my temple and gently take hold of my cheeks. I’m not prepared for the tender look in his eyes. A look I know is reflected in my own. A look that slows my pounding heart.
“Stop overthinking, baby,” he whispers. And it’s just like him, the old Clark, the Clark I’m in love with. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear I’ll never hurt you again.”
“You’re making it extremely difficult for me to walk away.” My words are hoarse and betray the torture I feel inside, the complete contradiction of emotions.
“Good. I don’t want you to go anywhere.” He kisses me, slowly, with affection and strength, in a way that tells me I’m cherished.
I melt into him, my body moulding to his. He lifts me again, my legs around his waist, and rolls his erection against my cleft. My back arches, pushing my pelvis against him, raising my breasts towards him. He pins me to the wall with his body and squeezes my breast then bites me over the material of my dress.
Fuck it. I’m beyond help at this stage, anyway.
I lean in and bite his neck, partly because I want to have him, partly because I’m so fucking annoyed at my body’s ability to overrule my mind. He nibbles and sucks back, his lips delicious against my flushed skin.
“I forgot how good you smell,” he says, his breath hot, his words heavy.
He lowers my legs and takes my hands above my head, pinning me to the wall with every part of him as he rotates his hips against me.
I’ve lost all reason. I have no sense. Not even a little bit. None at all.
He turns me quickly so I’m facing the wall and rolls down the zip of my dress, trailing his mouth down my spine as he moves, bringing my breaths thick and fast. He pulls down my dress, letting it pool around my feet, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, drags my thong down to join it, bending to the ground and encouraging me to step out of both. He runs his fingertips from my ankle, up… up…
I gasp when his fingers stroke my centre. He presses his chest against me and puts his fingers in my mouth. I suck them, taking my own juice.
“Now tell me you don’t want to do this,” he says, before turning me roughly and ramming my back against the wall.
I yank his hair in my hands angrily and drown in his taste, the flick of his tongue against mine, the drag of his teeth against my lip. I push him back, peeling myself from the wall, and watch him as I undo each of his shirt buttons and draw my hands greedily across his lean body, which looks better than ever.
He unbuckles his belt as I push his shirt back across his shoulders. I reach into his jeans and cup his hard length, savouring the carnal growl that leaves his chest. He grabs my waist and turns me so I’m facing his king-sized bed. He moves behind me, his bare pecs against my back, and bends me over, my hands on the bed, my legs wide. Cool air caresses my sex and all I want is to be filled by him. He rams his fingers into me, making me cry out.
“Feel yourself, baby. Feel your clit. Let me see you come.”
It’s scarily easy. Just like it used to be. There’s no awkwardness as he moves his fingers in and out of me and I roll my own fingers across my wet clit. Everything I used to feel, the intensity, the fire, it’s all still there.
My legs start to tremble. My muscles clench, aching for more than just his fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Let go.”
I give in and let the orgasm I’ve been fighting take over my body. He holds my waist as my knees soften. “Clark.”
“You. Are. So. Fucking. Hot.”
He leaves me for a moment, and I stay in that stance, feeling bereft, my lungs falling back into steady breaths.
He takes off his jeans, and I hear the foil of a condom packet tear. It’s a sound that saddens me a little. We got past this once. But my body is too charged with the knowledge of what’s to come to dwell on it.
He holds my hips. His huge shaft rests against my arse, teasing me. “Are you okay?”
