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I’m careful, so careful with her innocence, as I taste her wet pussy, wishing with everything that I could drive my stiff, aching cock into her.
Pressing my thumb on her clit and circling it roughly, I know she’s close now; I can tell by the way her body starts to tremble and tighten around my tongue. So I double my efforts, wanting to give her this release, wanting to be the reason she falls apart. When she comes, it’s a twister that I chase after, drawn into the eye by the way she cries out my name.
“Alistair! Wait!”
But it’s too late for that. Her climax has ripped through her, and she is coating my tongue with her cum.
Groaning as I grip her hip tighter, trying to get my face as close to her pussy as I can, I slip my other hand into my pants and grip my cock. Pulling it out, it’s aching with the need for a release.
Rising, I loom over her, cock in hand, and she scoots back, terrified. But I grab her ankles and drag her back down.
“Stay,” I murmur. It’s a fucking order, and she knows it.
Tugging roughly on my cock over her, I keep my eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of emotion that passes through those depths. She’s afraid, but there’s something else there, too—a spark of desire, a silent plea for more.
“Don’t be scared,” I say in a hoarse voice with my need. “I’m not going to hurt you.” But even as the words leave my lips, I know they’re only partially true. Because what we’re doing—it’s raw and wild, and maybe it will leave a mark on both of us.
I let her see exactly what she does to me, how she unravels my control. Her breath comes out in short gasps as her eyes lock onto mine, fear and fascination warring within their depths.
“I want you to see the truth. To see how much I want you.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can tell she’s caught between running and staying.
“Alistair,” she whispers, her voice a blend of plea and protest.
“I need this,” I say, almost grunting with the strain of holding back.
She watches quietly now, her body still trembling from the orgasm that wracked through her moments ago.
My hand moves faster now, the slick sounds filling the room. She’s underneath me, but not trapped.
With each stroke, I’m closer to losing myself completely. The pressure builds in my balls untilthere’s no holding back anymore. My groan is primal as the release hits me, the hot rush of my cum spilling over her stomach and pussy in little splats of claim, even if she doesn’t realise it.
Breathless, slumped forward with my hands resting on either side of her head, I struggle to regain some semblance of control.
Ever is still as a statue, her wide eyes glued to mine, trying to understand what just happened between us. Her lips part, but no words come out, just a shaky breath that tells me she’s still reeling from the intensity.
Carefully, I lift myself off her and reach for the discarded tee on the floor to clean her up. My hands are gentle now, wiping away the evidence of my lust from her skin. She doesn’t flinch or pull away; she just watches me with an unreadable expression.
“Next time, I’ll be taking all of you, Ever, whether you want me to or not,” I murmur.
Her ragged pants are filled with fear, but there is longing there as well. I can hear it even as she tries to mask it.
I step back, giving her space, and she bolts as expected.
But I smile and let her go, even though she’s run into the hallway in only her pyjama top. She will have to come asking for her clothes back. Scooping them up, feeling that this night went exactly the way I’d hoped, I dump them all in the laundry basket and then crawl onto the bed to stare at the frescoed ceiling until some form of sleep finally drags me under.
31
EVER
The plates in my hands are like a teetering tower, ready to topple with one wrong step. I weave through the sea of chairs and tables, dodging elbows and handbags, hustling the lunchtime rush from one end of the crowded restaurant to the other. The chatter is a nonstop buzz in my ears, and I can barely hear myself think over the clink of silverware and the sizzle from the open kitchen.
“Table six wants their bill, and table three’s been waiting on their refills,” I mutter, mentally ticking off the never-ending list of tasks. I flash a practised smile at a group of guys who whistle as I pass by, feeling the familiar sting of annoyance but not letting it show.
“Ever!” My name slices through the bustle, sharp and urgent. My manager, Terry, waves me over, his expression grim. I make a beeline for him, sidestepping a kid running underfoot with a balloon.
“Sorry to pull you from the floor,” he starts,scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “There’s been a change in the schedule.”
