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The ink that covers the majority of his torso isn't overbearing or disorganized. It's a carefully constructed mural of images and dates, the shading done in such a way that it highlights the contours of his body. My gaze is stuck on the swell of his shoulders—the rounded caps to his arms—when he flexes those delicious pecs and unbuckles his belt.
"You keep looking at me like that, darlin’, and I'll fuck you into a goddamn mess all over this sofa."
"Promise?" My cheeks warm; I've got no idea where this confidence comes from, but I do know that the heat in Digger's gaze only encourages me to keep it up.
"You like it like that?" He drops the denim to the floor and steps free, returning to where I melt into a puddle in anticipation. "Rough?" One knee on the cushion, the other foot braced on the floor, he lowers himself over me and sets a hand to my neck. "You want me to choke this pretty throat of yours?"
The fucking tingle it elicits shoots straight from my core to my breasts, nipples hard.Shit. I guess I do.
My eyelids droop, lips parting with a sigh.
"Take that as a yes?" He ducks his head, warm lips against my collarbone.
And still, his hand circles my throat.
I grind against his knee like the shameless hussy I am, desperate for friction. A groan is all I can manage when he tucks his free hand beneath my hip and lifts me against his thigh, helping find my release.
"Fuck, Rae. I can smell how bad you want this." Shame rushes through me, hot and thick at the thought. "Fuck that's hot." Until that.
His palm slips free of my neck, much to my disappointment, Digger making his way down my body. Kisses against my stomach, his tongue circling my bellybutton. It's a strange thing to do, but fucking arousing. He hooks his thumbs into my underwear and jerks them down my thighs, stopping at my knees.
It's all he needs to get where he wants.
He grabs my legs by the calves, pushing them up and forcing my knees to my stomach. It burns at the recent injury, but the pain is something I gladly take. With one hand, Digger finds mine, urging me to circle my arms around the backs of my thighs and hold my legs out of the way. I comply, crying out as his lips find my mound. He sucks gently against the hood, tongue peeking out to tease between the folds. I let my head roll back, turning to check the door.Was I too loud? Is Tyke on the other side?For some reason, the thought sends a rush of arousal to my center—one Digger greedily laps up with appreciative moans.
"Fuck, yes," he mumbles against me, fingers teasing my folds wider apart so he can spear my center with the tip of his tongue."Give me that honey, baby."
Bottom lip punished between my teeth, I whimper and moan, all my restraint needed to save from dropping my legs and grabbing him by the hair. Connor went down on me, sure, but he never put care into it. I always thought foreplay was a necessary exercise for him purely to get me ready enough to sink his dick in. But with Digger, he changes pace, reading each squirm of my hips and each clench of my muscles. He tailors the experience to my needs, bringing me close to the edge and then letting me slide back for a while before rushing back to the precipice.
To say I'm delirious by the time he slides my panties the rest of the way off and urges my legs on either side of his hips would be an understatement.
My chest heaves, lower muscles pulsing with want, the evidence of my arousal clear on his lips. "You don't play fair," I whimper.
"We've only just started." He braces a hand above my head and leans in, muscles flexing to keep his weight from crushing me while he steals a kiss. "Trust me?"
"For some unknown reason." I laugh, and it feels light. Right, to be able to share humor in the middle of what is an otherwise carnal moment.
It makes me feel close to him. Cherished.
He reaches between us, two fingers stoking the fire as he slowly massages my folds, working his touch deeper until both digits are buried deep within me. Air gets stuck in my lungs, and all rational thought redirects to the sensation of his gentle exploration. Only when my head begins to swim do I take a breath, exhaling, only to fill my lungs on a sharp inhale when Digger removes his fingers and slides his cock in instead.
"Fuck, yes." I blindly reach for the man, hands connecting with his strong shoulders.
Digger tilts his hips, pushing deep, pulling back, and then driving harder, deeper. His breath comes in short stutters, as though he struggles to maintain control. His chin is tilted down, gaze fixed on where we connect, as though he's mesmerized by the sight. I slide my hands to his neck, thumbs tracing the edge of a rose that adorns his throat. His head snaps up, raw intensity heating his gaze as he first studies my eyes, then my lips. His focus drops to my neck, and I know what's coming next before he lifts his hand.
The junction of his forefinger and thumb meets my throat, the pressure divine as he literally pushes my head back into thecushion, testing his weight against the connection. I part my lips, the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth while I watch him over the rise of my cheekbones. His nostrils flare, the tempo of his hips increasing. Digger shifts the hand he had on the back of the sofa to the rolled arm above my head, forearm streaked with roped veins. He shifts the hand off my neck long enough to grapple at the floor, bringing his T-shirt up and shoving it in a ball beneath my ass to raise my hips, tilting me toward him.
He pauses, gaze reverent on my pussy as he then strokes his fingers down the length of my slick slit. "Fuckin' prettiest thing I ever seen." Dick in his hand, he slides the head through my wetness once, twice, then plunges back where he belongs.
I'm floating, lost in a sea of ecstasy, as he tugs the neckline of my tank top roughly down, pushing the fabric beneath my breasts. There is no office around us. There are no other people here in this clubhouse. There's no murder that I bore witness to. No possessive ex hell-bent on having me under his control.
There's just a girl wanting to be loved as she is and the man proving he's happy to do so.
"Fuck, Rae." His hand returns home to my throat, Digger arching over me to steal another chaste kiss. "You tell me what you need, pretty girl." He gives my left nipple a tight twist.
There's no need to think about the answer. "I only need you."
His upper lip peels back in a snarl, his mop of dirty blonde hair a wild mess over his forehead, partially covering his feral gaze. I gasp when the hand from the arm of the sofa meets the top of my head. He handles me like he hates me, grip firm on my throat, palm pressing down on my crown. He uses the hold on me to drive me hard onto his length; each thrust a promise that before he's done, he plans to find out if he can break through to the other side. I smile at the chaos, whimper with each brutal blow, and swell with anticipation of the ache I'm promised after.
