“I need you to f**k me. Now.” I gasped the words, my mouth hanging open, the cold air against erect ni**les, his hand cupping me, and one finger moved, swiping under the sheet; he slid it inside of me, and my world went dark.
My arms gave out, and I fell back, arching, a second finger joining the first, and he moved them together, his other hand sliding the sheet farther down, baring my upper half, my body offered to him as I pushed against his hand. He curved his fingers, stroking my g-spot, his other hand worshipping my br**sts, now lifting, squeezing and then the additional stimulation of his mouth, hot and wet, sucking and pulling me against his tongue. I reached out, gripping his shirt, my eyes squeezed shut and bucked, my orgasm flooding uncontrolled, an explosion of De Luca proportions. He kept up the movement, my other hand reaching out and finding his shoulder, holding on for dear life as my body let out a final shudder, and then I collapsed on the bed, aftershocks twitching like erratic tics through my body.
My eyes closed, and I heard footsteps travel, latches click, the door open, and then shut. I opened my eyes, turning my head until I could see Brad, at my side, his eyes on my body. I watched him, watched as he placed a hand lightly on my ribcage, running it down my body as he circled the table, his eyes traveling along my skin, an intent, brooding look mixed in with his possessive standard. I murmured, a soft tone of satisfaction that had his eyes looking to mine, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he rounded the end of the table and stopped beside me. Bending over, he slid his arms under my body and stood, cradling me to his chest, my body curving, and I instinctively leaned into him, inhaling his scent, one that was 100% Brad, a smile crossing my face when I smelled only him on his shirt and neck. He carried me to the bed, lying me down on the pillow top, my face turning to him as he stood next to the bed, looking down at me.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I nodded, my eyes closing softly, a small smile on my lips. “Why’d he leave?”
He chuckled. “I can bring him back if you’d like. Call and get a later flight.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at the bedside table. “Almost 4:45.”
My eyes opened fully, and I pushed off the bed. “Shit! We’ve got to go.”
He pressed me back down, black need in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. “Not yet.”
Chapter 33
Sex with Brad was always different after a threesome. Sometimes it was tender, such as when we were with the Russian girl. Other times it was possessive, as if he was claiming me back, reasserting his dominance with his cock, hands, and mouth. And sometimes it was fire, two souls battling each other, passion and fury in between our bodies, the giant need for each other frenzied in its intensity.
That day, with precious minutes ticking by, I expected it to be fast. But he took his time, laying me back on the bed, his eyes moving slowly over my skin, drinking me in. His hands dropping his pants, then his underwear, until there was nothing but raw, hard cock. Ready for me. Wanting me. He leaned over my body, tasted with teasing kisses, my neck, br**sts, the side of my stomach, the curve of my hip. His hands pulled my legs open, and I squirmed as he drug soft lips closer, along the cut where my panties would lie, his eyes catching mine as he lowered his mouth to my sex.
God. I bucked under his mouth. His tongue was a velvet soft flutter over my sensitive clit. I was so aroused. On the edge of everything. He took me to the peak, keeping the rhythm up until I cried his name and clenched my legs. Until I came, my back arching, my hands finding and gripping his thick hair.
He moved up my body, joining me on the bed, his knees pushing my legs apart, his c**k settling and thrusting into my hot and ready core.
“Are you mad?” I whispered, staring into his face.
He cocked his head at me, confused.
“At what he was doing ... when you came in.”
He chuckled, shoved fully in, a place he didn’t typically go, the extreme depth of him usually painful. I winced, slapped his chest, warning him with my eyes. “I’m only mad if he was doing something you didn’t want. or, if he was making you uncomfortable. From the looks of it, you were very comfortable.”
“But you didn’t mind just watching?”
“Watching you being pleased?” He shook his head, dragged his hips backward, then gripped my legs and pushed back in. “Seeing your face when you come, your muscles when they clench. The arch of your back at a time when I can focus on it, enjoy it. I lose so many sensations when I f**k you. Your sounds, the flush of your cheeks. Sitting there, watching you come ... it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s not about ‘minding.’ It’s about enjoying.” He quickened his thrusts, the movements of his hips, and dropped my legs, returned to my mouth. Then he wrapped his arms underneath me, pulled me to his chest, and rolled us over, our bodies joined as one, until I was astride, and he was below. And then he gave me a brief moment of control, and let me ride him to completion.
Chapter 34
APRIL
Days until wedding: 120
People in danger typically try to put as much distance as possible between them and their attacker. They believe that space equals safety. But they are wrong, and often get hurt as a result. You see, when your enemies are close, when their bodies are pressed flush against yours, at that range they can do very little damage. They need distance to swing a punch, to extend their hands and choke your neck. Distance to reach down and unzip a zipper. The lesson is simple: Dictate your space. Keep your enemies as close as possible until you are ready to give them space. And when you give them that space, use it to destroy them.
I had broken the triangle choke into an acronym for easy memorization. A. Arm Across. I move my attacker’s arm across his body. S. Scoot away. I slide my body away from him, moving him down my chest. L. Leg over his shoulder. Creating a noose, which I will use to hang him. A. Ankle. I grab my ankle, tucking it under my other leg, tightening the noose. P. Press. Press down on his head and squeeze until the air has left his body and he passes out between my legs. After he has gone limp, continued pressure will eventually cause death. A SLAP.
Ben had, per Brad’s wishes, become my instructor, moving us to the theatre after dinner on Wednesday nights. Brad had the room’s seating moved to the attic, blue mats now covering the large space. There, Ben and I would ‘roll,’ him training me on jujitsu defense tactics created by the Gracie family over the last three decades, tactics designed to allow a smaller individual to defeat a larger one. Ben had grown up in California, trained in their academy for over a decade. Though his instruction would never count in the world of belts and qualifications, it was priceless in the world of my personal safety, a world Brad now seemed obsessed with. I now kept a gun in my SUV, had campus security walk me to my vehicle if night had fallen, and my humble college abode was outfitted with five thousand dollars worth of security cameras, alarms, and monitoring services. I had forbid Brad from placing tracking devices on my car or cell. My stubborn stance on the item had led to a fight, which led to incredible sex, and then another fight, Brad unwilling to drop the subject. But I had stayed firm. A life without freedom wasn’t, in my mind, worth living. I didn’t ever want my movements tracked, for someone to have a finger on where I was at any moment. There was a level of caution that was necessary and reasonable, then there was a level that was invasive and controlling. Brad was a control freak; it was in every ounce of his DNA. It was important to me that I never be controlled. He could control his work, his clients, his juries, his employees, but not me. So that argument I won, his dark eyes flashing in frustration at the outcome. The jujitsu argument he won, as there was no good reason for me not to have defense abilities.