“Don’t,” I grit out, my control on the brink of snapping.
“Kiss me,” she rasps out, voice hoarse.
“No,” I snap, my need starting to take over as her shoulders shudder and her clit beats against my fingers. Body molded to mine, I physically feel it when her orgasm starts to crest. She grips the back of my head, riding my fingers frantically as she chases the wave.
Pressing my cock into her back through the thin fabric of my shorts, I decide exactly how to push her over. “Next time I fuck you, I’m going to get you so wet that when I press your face against my mattress and spread you, you’ll already be dripping onto your thighs.”
“I-I-fuck, Dom,” she pants as she pulls the hair at the back of my neck so hard my cock jerks.
“Give it up,” I order as she tips over, shuddering against me until she’s depleted and sagging. Keeping her tightly to me as she comes down, I whisper words that spring up and fly out unchecked. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Cecelia, especially when you come apart for me.”
Releasing her to grab my coffee, she turns suddenly. I’m only able to see her narrowed blues before she pushes me back against the island, firmly grips the back of my neck, and crushes our mouths together.
Tensing, I open to object. “Cece—”
Taking advantage, she thrusts an insistent tongue into my mouth and instant need sieges me. One second, one fucking second, is all it takes to sweep me in, to match the violent thrust of her tongue—which I do, lick for lick. Losing myself in the kiss, she keeps me locked to her and hostage. Her moans drive me fucking insane as she slips her hand into my shorts, gripping my dick—hard—and pumping eagerly. Running her thumb over the head, she “hmms” in satisfaction when I groan into her mouth. She releases my cock briefly, lowering her hand to sink her nails into my thigh. My legs damn near buckle as she forces me further back, pinning me to the counter while at her mercy.
Goddamn.
My bearable flicker is now stoked to white-hot flame. I grip her arms in an attempt to break free as she presses all her weight against me, digging her claws further into my skin, knowing what it does to me.
She maintains control of my mouth, feeding and fueling me until I’m in a frenzy, ready to fuck whatever she’ll allow me before she abruptly pulls away. A smirk grows on her lips as she eyes the state of me. Seeming satisfied, she turns and dumps two spoons of sugar into her coffee and stirs. Turning back to me with one arm crossed over her torso, she takes a sip and scans me where I stand frozen, hard as a nail, and fucking furious.
Psychologically, I’m on my knees.
Physically, I could fuck a brick wall.
“I’m assuming you’re halfway there,” she lifts a finger and taps my temple twice, “because you know just how good it feels when we do fuck. So,” she pushes off the counter and glances back at me, swaggering toward the staircase, “you can finish yourself off . . . oh, and hi.”
“Why did you hate me?”
“Who says I don’t hate you?”
Groaning, I glance over at the small digital clock on my nightstand as the conversation from our first day together replays on a loop.
Blinking after catching sight of the blurry digital hour, I run my hand down my jaw with a groan. Cecelia’s murmurs circulate through my restless mind for the umpteenth time since she left me in that kitchen after turning the tables—leaving me wanting more, needing more.
Closing my eyes, I’m struck by the ingrained image of trailing my palm along her spine and over the curve of her perfect ass, along with the echo of the blunt truth she battered me with on rainy day one.
“You stare at me all the time, too.”
I’ve managed to dodge those intimate conversations since our first day, but it continues to taunt me anyway—invading me like she has since she drove into Triple Falls. This morning she called my bluff, and as she walked away, I knew that she’d been placating me. More than that, playing me by allowing me to think I have the upper hand. She knows exactly what power she holds and has been feigning innocent.
At my keyboard tonight, I found myself zoning out with thoughts of her. Of ways to try and keep her entertained in my box. Those thoughts eventually wandered to the various ways I want to fuck her. I’ve fisted my dick twice to expel the pent-up need to no avail, which left me simmering.
Catching another whiff of her scent, I turn my head, inhaling deeply, before pulling away and glaring at the source of my agitation. Gripping the pillow, I pull it to me and inhale, identifying the culprit for my unease. Smell evokes memory, which then helps to trigger all the other senses. Dropping the pillow like it’s on fire, I realize it’s her addictive aroma that’s provoked every torturous minute of the last nine fucking hours.
Lifting my bed sheet to sniff, I catch another strong whiff of her.
She’s everywhere.
In my head, in my sheets. Even my libido is starting to play Fido.
Fuck this.
Springing to my knees, I grip the fitted sheet and tug hard. The ends snap off the corners before I toss every pillow in the center of it, wrapping them up and fisting the bundle like a sack over my shoulder. Dragging it behind me downstairs, I hit the landing as another hint of her engulfs me, and I toss them to the foot of the stairs like they’re on fire. Marching toward the kitchen, I’m stopped short by two pairs of curious eyes. Tyler stands frozen on the other side of the island, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Sean is across from him at the stove, spatula in his hand. Stalking past them into the kitchen, I snatch a trash bag from underneath the sink.
“Morning, buddy,” Sean says, his voice full of mirth. “Have an accident? Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.”
Glancing up as I stuff my bedding into the bag, I see Tyler biting his lips to keep from laughing as I glare between the two of them.
“You do know,” Sean drawls, lazily cutting through his eggs with the spatula to scramble them. “You can wash the pillowcases, right? No need to toss the pillows, too.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, tying the trash bag before heading up the stairs.
Laughter erupts out of both of them as I grip the rail and take them two at a time.
“He’s so fucked,” Tyler sounds through a chuckle. “I swear to God he was listening to K-Ci and JoJo last night when I popped into his room.”
“It was on the radio, you dick!” I defend, stalking toward my bedroom.
I may have found the song in my cloud and replayed it once or twice.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Sean coos up at me in taunt. “The meaner they are, the harder they fall.”
“Don’t confuse your entrapment with me!” I boom, taking the last few strides to my room and snapping my door closed behind me. Chest heaving, I palm the back of it as if the sheets might come back for me. “Jesus Christ, King, get a grip.”
But I can’t because deep down, I know exactly what this is.
She’s trying to domesticate me!
Scanning my room for any remnants of her, I spot a hair tie on my nightstand and narrow my eyes. Grabbing my trashcan, I walk over to it, flick it off, and into the can—satisfied when I earn two points.
If this is longing or attachment, it ends right here.