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Oh, Lord, he’s huge, too. And he’s also got an action-packed hard on forming.
If I’m doing comparisons, he might be a fraction smaller in girth, but a fraction longer. It’s really hard to tell at this stage, but there’s a nice curve to him that I can see hitting certain things just right.
Or wrong.
Depending on his mood.
And if he’s that fraction longer, slamming home hard and deep’s gonna feel both bad and oh so good.
It really doesn’t matter.
They both have spectacular cocks. And at full erection, I’ve a feeling those miniscule differences won’t matter.
And…oh fuck, is he pierced?
“Like what you feel, MG?”
I squeeze hard, to hurt, and say, “It’s not a matter of what I like about you, which isn’t much at all, but a matter of whether you want to keep this thing or not. If not, keep on groping me. If you do, I suggest you take your fucking hand off my breast. Now.”
“You like it.” He shifts his hand down so his fingers are on my stiff nipple. He plucks at it, making me moan. “And do I look like a man who gives a fuck if you like me or not? But I know you like it rough, and dangerous. You’re all turned on.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he’s not the one who has me hot and bothered, but the horrible truth is, in this moment, he’s right. His hand on me, his roughness, his complete disregard for me or my pleasure or pain is such a turn on that the now extra wetness slicking my thighs is pure Jac Miller related.
So I fucking give his cock a twist.
He sucks in a hard and sharp breath. Then he pushes into me. Not much—we’re in a room full of people, but we’re also in the corner and the shadows and he somehow knows I like what he’s doing, even as I hate it.
This man will hurt. This man can give great pleasure. And hewilltake without asking, and it won’t be a game.
He’ll get everything to the point where the game isn’t there, where the woman will do what he wants, and he’ll take it all if he’s inclined, leaving her begging for more.
Probably hating herself for it, too.
That was there in the eyes of the gorgeous young thing he has with him tonight.
“Moves like that, MG, are called challenges. I don’t ignore challenges.” He comes in close to my ear and bites the lobe. Hard. “Remember that.”
He lets me go but doesn’t move.
“Can you get the fuck out of my way?” I ask.
“I want what you took.”
I consider him and almost laugh. “You have that much confidence in me? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. I’m paying you millions. I expect results.”
I lift my hand, wrap my fingers about his tie, and pull him in against me. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“And you play with fires you don’t understand. I want what’s mine. I want the jewels.”
My heart’s beating too hard, pulse racing hot and fast, and my mouth waters as I gaze up at him, that dark blond curling hair calling for me to touch it, the sensuous lips begging for me to taste them.
And he knows it.
The fucker knows it.
He plays with it like he’s playing a reckless game of chess or maybe xiangqi. Not shogi, the Japanese version. There’s something very Hendrick about shogi.
