“Christ, I could kiss you for fucking days,” he growls, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He licks into my mouth, his kiss growing relentless with each uneven breath we take. “Please, Ber, I’m begging, baby, let me fuck you like you need to be fucked. Let me give your body what it’s craving.”
Need, want, and lust lightens my head, his sudden plea spreading over me. Without breaking our kiss, Brock lifts me onto the table, wedging himself between my thighs. A gasp shoots from my parched throat as he draws my legs up around his waist. I rest my palms on the cool marble, my gaze submerged in the hungry look prowling his face.
“Tell me you’re gonna let me fuck you tonight,” Brock commands, his stare connected to mine with infallible precision.
“Yes,” I breathe without a second thought. “You’re fucking me tonight.” I need, want, and ache for this.
My stomach plummets to my toes as Brock snakes his hand up my thigh, finding and ripping my lace panties clear off my body. He trips a finger over my clit, sending delicious pinpricks of pleasure across my skin.
Another gasp leaves me as his mouth lands on mine, his voice strangled. “Do you like kissing me while you’re high?”
I moan, shudders bombarding every previously relaxed muscle in my body as he barely pushes a finger inside me. My head lolls back, my eyelids heavy, hooded like cement’s weighing them down as I clutch the table.
“Yes,” I answer, thrusting my hips forward. “I love it.”
“Do you want to know what it feels like to be finger-fucked while you’re high?”
I nod, heat coiling around me.
“Say it,” he slowly whispers, his eyes glued to mine as he cups my ass, pulling me to the edge of the table.
On instinct, I bring my hands to his hair, gripping the soft caramel waves. “Finger-fuck me,” I beg, shame having no damn say in this moment.
He pushes a scant inch inside me. “Say it again,” he growls.
“Finger-fuck me,” I pant, digging my fingers into his skull.
Another inch, another finger. My pussy clenches, throbbing for more.
“Again, Ber. Say it again. Tell me to finger-fuck you harder.”
At this point, I don’t know who’s the one begging. The only thing I know is that in some sick, twisted way, he’s playing with me. I know it by the way he’s waiting for me to answer, his eyes smug with control but still delicious with promise. I know it by the way he’s teasing his lips over mine, just enough to make me bite my own when he pulls back. And I know it by the way he’s slowly seducing me into loving everything he’s doing.
I’m in uncharted territory, every fiber in my fucked-up being aware it’s a fiend for the drug that is Brock Cunningham. Everything about him is dangerously beautiful, an untapped high I want to fully experience.
Fully consume.
Fully shoot through the curious blood in my veins.
Still, I’m not about to let him steal away my sexual control. It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane thus far. I’m going in for my next hit, but this addict’s not about to make it easy for the dealer.
At. All.
I grip his hair tighter and pull his face to mine, my eyes fierce as uncut gemstones. “If you don’t finger-fuck me harder, I’m getting off this table, calling a taxi, and going back to my dorm. A good porno and a dildo’s brought me to the exact same place you can without the added bullshit. Take it or leave it.”
With a wicked smirk, Brock goes knuckle-deep with three of his talented fingers, their rhythm matching the harsh breaths pushing from our lungs.
“Is that deep enough for you?” He buries his face against my sweaty neck.
With words disappearing from my brain—vanished, poof, gone—I can’t answer. I can’t focus or think straight. Sweet hell of all fiery hells, I can’t breathe past the intoxicating sensations pulsing through my body as I claw at his T-shirt.
“Yeah, that’s deep enough. This pussy’s as ripe and ready as they come.” Brock pulls back, his warm breath flirting over my lips as he stares into my eyes. “You want my cock? Need to feel it inside you?”
“Yes,” I hum. “I don’t care. Just fuck me right here on the table.”
Desire buzzes thick through my veins as he rips open my blouse, the buttons scattering against the floor, along with my sanity. He slips the scalloped edge of my bra down, palms my breast, and flicks his tongue across my nipple. I surge forward, my body’s primal need to fuck exploding.
“Mm,” he groans, suckling the hardened peak, his fingers relentlessly manipulating my flesh. “But you’re begging me for it before I give it to you, baby. I wanna hear you beg for my cock.”
I cave, crumbling under the sharp scalpel of desire. “Please. I need your cock inside me. Now.”
“Ah. There she is,” he croons, his voice a dark ache as he pulls his fingers from me. Hunter eyes locked on mine, Brock touches them to my lips, sliding them into my mouth. I accept them without reserve, sucking my moisture from his fingers.
“Fuck, that’s right, Ber. You like the way you taste on me, don’t ya?”
On a moan, I nod and suck harder, my trembling hands wrapped around his wrist as I stare into his glazed-over eyes. As though the act shattered his sanity, Brock sweeps me off the table and up into his arms. He coats his mouth over mine as he carries me into the apartment.
“It’s my turn to taste that pussy,” he growls against my lips.
He fists the back of my hair, his shoulders slamming into furniture, walls, and the doorjamb of his bedroom before he sets me down on shaky legs. With dark eyes, Brock stares at me. God, he looks like an angelic demon, beautiful, frightening. My pulse thuds, sending blood screaming through my veins. Though the room’s scarcely lit—drabs of the moon’s potency filtering in through the wooden blinds—I see the hunger in his gaze, his want for me emanating off him.