He kissed me on the shoulder and chuckled against my skin. “No not on your hands and knees. I don’t care about the position, I care about the fact that you aren’t trying to get away from me anymore. I like you caught, Key.”
I whimpered a little as he stopped playing with my belly button and detoured to that part of my body that was anxiously waiting for him.
I was caught. I was trapped by his power and ensnared in his complex personality.
I gasped out his name and let my forehead fall forward to rest on the edge of the stair as he tapped my clit with his thumb and pumped his other digits in and out of the soaked opening of my sex. I couldn’t stop my hips from moving back toward him, and over my shoulder I watched his eyes flare up like a wildfire at the motion. That golden caramel color was always so pretty and bright in his striking and harshly hewn face, but as he watched his fingers disappear inside me and the way I couldn’t help but move on him, they bled fire and so much passion they looked almost too hot to be human.
His muscles were tense and his gaze was centered on where I was riding his hand; the raw desire etched on his features was enough to have me on the brink of an orgasm as he continued to circle that tight bundle of nerves at the heart of me with unrelenting pressure and unparalleled skill. He let go of the other breast, and when blood rushed back into that point, it hurt enough that I cried out and turned around to glare at him.
He just gave me a wicked grin and moved his unoccupied hand to stroke soothingly up and down my spine. I arched into the touch, let my eyes flutter closed at the dual stimulation, one naughty and one so sweet that it had my throat clogging with emotion. It was a lot to take in. I wondered if sex with him was always going to be something that felt like it was ripping my soul and heart apart and then putting them back together with him firmly in the places that had always been broken and torn.
He twisted his wrist and reached down to squeeze my ass as I bucked against him. I was so close to coming I could feel myself getting tighter around his playing fingers and moisture starting to slick around his motions. I groaned and forced my heavy head up off the stair so that I could look at him over my shoulder.
“I want you inside of me.” There had been too much time wasted keeping him at an arm’s length for self-preservation. Now that I was caught, I wanted every part of what caught meant. I wanted him to know I was willingly giving this to him and would give it to him any chance I got.
One of his dark eyebrows shot up and I thought he was going to argue or say something that would undoubtedly piss me off, but he just pulled my hips closer, yanking my knees closer to the edge of the step, and started to work his black sleep pants down around his lean hips. When his cock sprang free it made my mouth water. I had seen plenty of dick in my life and had intimate knowledge of enough of them to know that no cock should ever be considered beautiful, but Nassir’s was. Like the rest of him, it sort of had a brutal elegance with its dusky color and eager head already leaking a drop of precome. It was long and just thick enough to make things interesting, and when he used his thumb to bend the rigid length down so that he could line himself up with my entrance, I couldn’t hold back a sigh of satisfaction.
Unlike last night, he took his time as he slid inside my waiting folds. My body stretched, quaked, heated up, and wept for him as he slowly and achingly set himself all the way inside of me. It felt like being branded from the inside out. It felt like he was making a place for himself inside my body that no one else would ever be able to fill. It felt like he was showing me some hidden secret about sex and togetherness I had missed along the way. It felt deep and dangerous.
It felt like love.
His grip on my hips tightened as he pulled me tighter into his thrusting hips. He growled my name as my body pulled at him, clasped him hungrily and greedily. I couldn’t do anything other than move with him, meet him thrust for thrust, and hold on as we pounded against one another.
It was hot. It was messy. It was animalistic. It was loud. It was a little rough. It was a lot dirty. It was better than anything had ever been before it. It was everything sex had been missing when I had it with someone that wasn’t him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him to never stop and beg him to just end it all at the same time. I didn’t do any of that. I just chanted his name over and over again and tried to hold on to everything I was feeling so that I could remember this moment forever.
Suddenly he jerked me upright and wrapped an arm across my chest to pin me to his own sweaty torso. His arm landed across my breasts and his mouth bit down on the curve of my neck where it connected to my shoulder, and that was the last little bit of stimulation I could take. I let out a short gasp of surprise as my orgasm hit me like a train. I shattered into a thousand little pieces of pleasure and collapsed in his tight hold as he worked against me until he found his own release. He grumbled my name in my ear and rubbed his forearm across my already overly sensitized nipples, and I was stunned when that was enough to throw my body into another round of orgasmic aftershocks.
He held me like a doll while my body milked him dry and he panted his own pleasure into my hair. When it was all over I felt hollowed out and empty, like everything that I had just handed over to him. I didn’t argue or even twitch when he pulled out of me, situated himself back into his pants, picked up the shirt he ruined pulling off of me, and bent to scoop me up in his arms. He took the last few steps at the top of the stairs and bypassed the room I had been staying in for the bathroom in the hallway. He didn’t put me down when he reached in to crank on the water and I just let my head loll, useless against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong in my ear and it was almost enough to have me drifting back to sleep, until the shock of hot water hit my skin as he walked us both under the stream of the shower head. I didn’t even notice him stripping down to get into the water.
I sputtered and glared at him as he chuckled and gently set me back on my feet. I narrowed my eyes at him and turned my back so he could scrub the sleepiness and sex off of my skin.
We didn’t talk much as we both cleaned up, but I did notice he was taking extra care with his bruised shoulder and he avoided scrubbing the top of his head where I’d sewn the makeshift stitches. I rubbed flowery-smelling soap all over my skin and winced when I found the spots his scratchy face had rubbed raw. He just lifted an eyebrow at me when I smacked him in the belly with the back of my hand. It was like hitting a brick wall and he moved around me so that his broad back was facing me and hogging all the water. I was going to yell at him for being an inconsiderate jerk but my gaze landed on all that black ink that was now glistening and wet. It was such a big tattoo and so intricate and violent-looking. It was like an ancient tapestry inscribed on his flesh and I couldn’t help but reach out and touch it with the tip of one finger.