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He bites down hard on my nipple, making me yelp, and sits me up, giving me a firm tug and another smack to my other tit. Immediately when I sit up, I see what he’s talking about. My jaw drops, and my mouth goes dry.
I count… one, two, three, four. Fuck. He has three barbells going through the underside of his cock and a ring through his tip. Four piercings. In his dick. In his large, thick, veiny, angry-looking dick. He definitely did not have those the last time he was inside me.
I blink and look up into his hooded eyes. “I’m assuming they feel better than they don’t. For me, I mean, as I don’t really care about your pleasure.” I reach out and touch them, dragging my finger up through the thin skin covering the metal and even pushing on the side of a barbell to slide it.
His lips part, and he leans in to kiss me deep and ravenous as I continue to touch him. To play with his piercings because fuck, I don’t want to stop. I drag my thumb up over the barbells and pull gently on the hoop, and a groan rips past his lungs and into my mouth. Suddenly, he’s everywhere, pushing me down, flipping me over until I’m on my stomach, and then hoisting me up, forcing me on all fours.
His chest covers my back and his mouth hovers by my ear as he growls, “You tell me.”
And then he plunges straight into me, all the way to the hilt. I cry out, because, yes, he is thick and long, but I can feel the metal. I can feel the barbells roll along my G-spot since he’s taking me from behind, and I know that’s no accident. The walls of my pussy contract and somehow manage to grow more sensitive than ever before, clenching and unclenching as they grip him.
“Fuck,” he curses, his forehead falling between my shoulder blades. “Fuck, baby. How could I have forgotten how goddamn good your cunt feels?” He sighs a shaky breath. “Or maybe this is why I forced myself to forget.”
His whole weight is on me as he slides almost all the way out and then thrusts all the way back in. My breath scrambles from my lungs as he starts to piston into me over and over, creating a grueling, punishing, almost cruel rhythm. With his body over mine like this, he controls my movements, how I take him, how deep he goes.
The friction is like nothing else, rooted deep from within me, awakening every nerve ending I’m comprised of both inside and out. I grind against him, my hands clawing at the bed linens, and all I can do is gasp and moan. I quake with how good this feels, my head bowing and my eyes closed as I absorb him pounding into me.
Rough teeth scrape along my spine, the flash of pain quickly followed by his soothing tongue as he licks up my back. His hand wraps around my neck, not cutting off my air but holding me, using it as leverage, as his possessive way to control how this goes. His other hand is on my hip, gripping the hell out of me.
My pussy feels swollen and tight around his thick, hard cock, but it’s his piercings—the way they edge and simultaneously play with pain and pleasure—that are twisting up my mind, splintering my thoughts, and yet have me seeking more. Craving it so bad I can hardly stand it. I want him to fuck me until he’s torn me apart. Until I experience a new kind of pleasure I never knew existed.
I arch against him and drop to my elbows, reaching back to rub my clit, needing the extra friction when he reaches down and snags my wrist, bending it behind me and stopping me. On my next breath, he’s jerking me upright, grabbing my other hand, and pinning both of my wrists behind my back, trapping them between us in the manacle of his large hand.
“Mine,” he grunts, tugging me back until I’m leaning against his chest and he can lock my arms between us. He releases me, and the hand that was on my hip slithers up to my breast, holding it firmly while his other hand goes to my clit.
He hasn’t stopped fucking me. He hasn’t even slowed to take a breath or change up the pace. But now the angle is different, less direct, and he’s forced to pump up into me.
And hell… the way he does that rubs my front wall while his fingers work furiously on my clit.
“My kryptonite. You’re so fucking sexy, Georgia.” He licks a trail up my neck, but if I thought I was at his mercy before, that has nothing on me now. I’m his plaything. His toy. All I can do is shift my knees a little wider to give him better access to my clit, to let him slide into me a little deeper, go a little harder.
It’s everything, and in a matter of seconds, I’m coming so hard my orgasm splinters through me, shredding me completely. I grind down on him, against his fingers, as my head falls back against his chest. A feral groan, low and rough tears from his lips as he slams into me, fucking me to the very brink of what I can take, and then he’s coming too, his release filling me up and already leaking down onto my upper thighs.
His arms wrap around me, and we tumble down onto the bed, both of us panting for our lives as he holds me and tucks me against him, my back to his chest. “Don’t move,” he commands after a quiet moment and then he’s up, going to the bathroom only to return with a cloth to clean me up. And when that’s done, he pulls back the blankets and drags me under the covers, holding me in a way that naturally makes my traitorous heart thump in my chest.
His fingers glide along the curve of my hip, lulling me into an exhausted stupor. One where I don’t allow any thoughts about what we just did to linger.
That is until I feel him stir behind me, his cock getting hard once more, and he whispers in my ear, “This time I’ll make you feel like a bride.”
And I wonder if once again, I’ll live to regret him.
Chapter Eleven
Dawn comes long before I’m ready for it. Lenox and I had sex again in the bed and then moved to the shower for a third round before I passed out. I have no idea what he did after that. I didn’t allow myself to do much more than climb into bed after brushing my teeth and fall asleep—something I know he doesn’t do much of.
But when I wake up, I discover he’s fast asleep beside me. On his side, with his eyelashes fluttering as if he’s dreaming, his full, soft lips parted ever so slightly, he breathes in and out so quietly, you’d never know he was breathing if you didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest.
I can’t stay in this bed. I can’t wait for him to wake up and still be here. We didn’t talk about where he’d sleep, but I can’t have him in the bed beside me for the rest of the trip.
Distance is paramount—especially after how epic last night was—so I slip out of bed, climb into gym clothes, and then sneak out of our suite, heading to the gym to take an early morning yoga class. The room is packed, and I take a spot in the corner, keeping my head down and my face averted.
No one gives a shit in LA. Everyone there is a celebrity, but here it’s different, and the covert looks and hushed whispers I’m getting only add to my agitation. I only wish they had a punching bag or something I could take it out on. Despite the rough start, an hour later, I’m starting to feel like myself again. Like Georgia of old. Like I can manage all the things being thrown at me, and with that, I can turn a new page and start a new chapter of my life.
After the class, I head into the lobby, covered in sweat, and get in line at Starbucks so I can order myself a Venti Americano and Lenox… fuck. I have no clue what Lenox drinks because we so rarely did the morning-after thing. I order him the same thing as me, along with a double shot of espresso, thinking that must be the drink of hackers everywhere.
While I wait, I stand off to the side, aimlessly scrolling through my Instagram, only to groan when I come across a video of Lenox winning the ten million dollars. Thankfully there is a comment about how we donated the money to charity, but it’s definitely showing me, and it’s definitely showing Lenox. By some mercy, it doesn’t mention anything about a wedding or us being together as a couple.
I want to put that off as long as possible.
