Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  The muscles inside me clenched, squeezing at him and giving both of us more enjoyment. He rocked his hips, pressing up into me and I flattened my palm harder against his chest.

  “No moving,” I warned, “or I’ll stop. Understand?”

  He both liked and didn’t like my rule, but he’d do his best to obey. He gritted it out. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Whether it was the conditioned response of a southern gentleman or his upbringing to respect authority, it didn’t matter. Whenever the polite reply came from him, it strengthened the powerful, sexually confident woman I hoped to become. I wanted to be the fantasy of me he’d created.

  The one who liked fucking with the lights on and being in charge. The one who believed her pleasure was just as important as her partner’s.

  The muscles of Troy’s jaw tightened when I began to ride him. A look of concentration swept over his handsome face as I established my tempo. His gaze flitted between mine and the sway of my breasts as I swiveled my hips, rocking back and forth.

  The slick push and pull of him made my heart go out of rhythm. It felt like everything inside me was morphing into something new as heat and bliss built at a feverish pace.

  He turned his head to the side and groaned it into the pillow. “Fuck.”

  I’d thought having him stay still and not allowing him to touch would help him last, but maybe it made it harder for him. He sounded as out of breath as I was. Low grunts of satisfaction poured from his lips. Was he already struggling?

  I had both my hands on his chest, using them as leverage, but I slowed my hips to a stop and stroked my fingers over the ridges of his muscles.

  “Don’t come yet,” I said.

  “Well, don’t be so fucking hot,” he shot back.

  The smile that spread across my face was unstoppable. I’d never thought of myself as a cruel person, but he brought out a side of me that liked to tease. I dragged my palms down his stomach, up my own, and clasped my hands around my full breast. I flaunted what I could touch, but he couldn’t.

  His eyes filled with music, inked in a hand hurried with longing and white-hot desire. And he moaned like I was tormenting him in the best way possible.

  There was one way to make sure I got my orgasm before his, and the memory of him watching me in the pool house while I touched myself seared through my mind. I could get myself off even faster with something other than my hand . . .

  I leaned over and reached for the drawer.

  He sounded more curious than alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t answer right away, too focused on my task. The rose gold toy I liked best was right on top, and I grabbed it by the handle, then pushed the drawer closed and straightened to sit upright.

  “You wanted to see how some of my toys worked.” I held it up for him to see. “I’ll show you.”

  His intrigued gaze was glued to the weirdly shaped toy that had an O-shaped mouth protruding at one end, and was sheathed in silicone. I set my fingers of my free hand over my pussy and spread myself wide so my clit was exposed.

  “This,” I pressed the button on the handle, making the toy quietly buzz, “uses suction on my clit.” I placed the toy over my damp skin, and as soon as it was sealed, I shuddered. “It feels so nice.”

  Inside me, his dick jerked.

  The pleasure of the toy was so intense and distracting, it took a long moment to become aware that the man beneath me was moving again. It was so subtle. Just a fraction of an inch to entice me to allow more.

  To bend the rule. To seduce me.

  But it felt like the power I’d gained was starting to shift away, and I was enjoying it too much to give up yet. I’d barely started.

  “Hold still,” I begged. “And don’t come before I do.”

  He exhaled loudly, and the muscles of his abs strained when I resumed moving on his cock. “That’s . . . not . . . easy.” He lay perfectly still, other than the way he panted. “You feel so fucking good.”

  Everything was buzzing from the toy and the fullness of him inside me, and it wouldn’t be long before an orgasm roared through my body. Trembles shook my legs as I moved faster, and the slap of my body against his grew louder. My hair swayed while I rocked, the ends tickling the bare skin of my back.

  “Slow,” he groaned, staring at the rise and fall of my body on his. “Careful.”

  But I didn’t want to go slow or be cautious. I was locked inside a pressure cooker filling with steam. My need made me a slave, and I fucked him how my body demanded me to.

  His warning was serious and accompanied by a firm hand on my hip. “You’re going to make me come.”

  His attempt to get me to stop moving didn’t work. I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and flung his hand off me.

  “Shit, Erika. I’m close.”

  The edge of desperation in his voice not only excited the darkest part of me—it unlocked it. I slowed my hips, grinding to a halt and gazed down at this gorgeous man who’d told me he thought I had a filthy mind. I was determined to prove him right.

  “Maybe you need some motivation,” I whispered.

  Tension crept into his body like he sensed whatever I was about to say would be worse than making him lie still.

  “If you come before I say you can . . .” I swallowed so hard it was audible. “As punishment, you have to clean it up.”

  He stopped breathing. Stopped blinking. “What?”

  “If you come inside this pussy without my permission, you’ll use your mouth to take care of your mess.”

  An enormous shudder shook his body, as if he’d tried to hold it back and couldn’t.

  Because my shocking, filthy decree had turned him on when he hadn’t expected it to. He’d barely finished processing it before I resumed moving. His teeth were clenched and the muscles in his neck corded, but he held still and endured the pleasurable way I heaved my body over his.

  But it took its toll. No matter how he tried to concentrate, it was getting to him. Not just the slide of my pussy, but the sights and sounds. I couldn’t stay quiet as the toy pulsed against my sensitive clit, and I writhed on top of him, arching my back and making my hardened nipples point toward the ceiling.

  “Goddamnit,” he growled. Although it was so desperate, maybe it was a whine.

  I watched porn and knew some of the terms, and I doubted there was anything I could say that would shock a twenty-four-year-old guy. He had internet and was probably into more things than I was.

  “Maybe you’re a dirty boy who wants to eat his own creampie,” I murmured.

  He exhaled loudly and flinched beneath me. His dick throbbed, announcing that he’d gotten very, very close. The idea of it was too much and pushed me over the edge.

  “Oh, my God,” I gasped. “Oh, God, ohmigod . . .”

  As the frenzy built inside me, it was mirrored on Troy’s face. Excitement lit his eyes. “Yeah? Come all over me.”

  My orgasm took me in its grip, and everything contracted—then burst open. I flinched with shocks of pleasure and pulled the mouth of the toy away, the suction now far too intense.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned. “Fuck.”

  I was still shuddering when I fumbled to turn the toy off and then dropped it to the mattress beside us.

  His warm, rough hands were around my waist, but it seemed like he’d done it to hold me steady, not to try to control. I’d been wild in the throes of my climax, and he hadn’t wanted me to accidentally pull off him. He’d enjoyed me coming almost as much as I had.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  He grinned. “That good, huh?”

  It was like the ecstasy had disrupted my brain and I could only produce single words. “Yes,” I said. “Good.”

  As I recovered, he grew bolder. His fingertips skated up my back and urged me forward. He wanted to kiss me, and I wasn’t going to deny him that. I needed it more than anything else right now, and our greedy lips collided, lighting a new fire inside me.

  The song pla
ying in my head was different than the one last night. It was deeper and more emotional, and my heart panicked at it. I’d told myself the only feelings I was allowed to develop for this man were the ones in my pants. I was coming out of a marriage and besides that, getting emotionally involved with him would further complicate things with both Jenna and our careers.

  Yet . . .

  I couldn’t stop kissing him, and I couldn’t stop the wave of longing that swept through me.

  When I began moving again, slower this time, Troy stayed a statue. Only his face twisted with satisfaction as I eased up and down. Stroke after long stroke, I found my tempo. When I lifted up and braced my hands against the headboard, I could move faster.

  His question came from the back of his throat. “Can I come?”

  It felt so fucking good, I was sure I could wring another orgasm quickly from my body. “Not yet,” I cried.

  It was not the answer he wanted, and in my greed, I hadn’t realized I’d pushed him to the brink. He sat up and wrapped his arms around me, then suddenly turned us over so I was flat on my back, the sheets beneath me.

  I gasped as he guided himself inside my body and drove deep, his hands cuffing my wrists and pressing them to the mattress. Denied too long, Troy took control. I gaped up at him in awe, utterly thrilled by the ruthless way he took me. He rutted like a beast.

  Determination etched his face and burned in his eyes as he fucked me. The slam of his body against mine was violent and it shook the bed. This wasn’t a man wanting to please . . . he’d done that already.

  This was a man wanting to find his end.

  I marveled at his raw display, how he acted as if his need for me was consuming him. The sexual creature inside me wanted to burst. It was beyond sexy and whispered the power I thought I’d relinquished was still there—it’d only shifted.

  His grip on my wrists tightened as he approached his climax, and the furious tempo of his thrusts became uneven. A deep moan climbed out of his chest on his final thrust, and as he came, Troy collapsed forward onto me, flattening his sweat-damp skin to mine.

  The rhythmic pulses of his orgasm felt so incredibly good, I moaned in sync with him. He lay on top of me for a long moment, shuddering and spent, before collecting himself and rising onto his arms.

  I didn’t understand the expression he was wearing. Was he ashamed of how rough he’d been?

  Oh.

  My breath caught as he sank down my body, making the sheets beneath us rustle as he shifted over them. Was he going to—

  Yes.

  He was.

  I arched my back, bowing off the bed in surprise when he nuzzled his face between my thighs. Holy shit, it was fucking dirty.

  And I loved it. My hands speared into his hair, holding onto him as he worked to complete his task. Every flick of his tongue was a jolt of bliss.

  My voice was heavy, weighed down with debauchery. “Oh, God, yes. Make me come again.”

  He issued a sound of approval, and hearing him enjoying what he was doing was all it took to send me flying.

  The orgasm ripped through me as fire and I was left blissfully tingling in its aftermath. As soon as I stopped shuddering, he dropped a line of kisses across my belly, working his way back to me.

  He’d gone from reluctant submissive to dominant and back again, and I couldn’t tell which version of him I enjoyed more. I liked playing either role myself. We were so perfectly matched in the bedroom and in music, and if I could be honest with myself for once, I would admit how I wanted to know where else we aligned.

  If I could have ordered the universe to send me the perfect man, custom made just for me . . . how close did Troy come to that?

  Troy

  My disoriented eyes blinked open. Where the fuck was I? The bedroom was unfamiliar, and then my gaze went to the empty spot beside me in the bed. Erika’s bed. I’d passed out after the mind-blowing sex and now I had no idea what time it was or where she had run off to.

  The clock on her side of the bed said it was nearly two a.m.

  I was parched, and I needed to find her, so I kicked off the covers, pulled on my underwear, and headed for the kitchen. Hopefully she’d gone there to get a drink and that was all. She wasn’t hiding from me in some other room of the house, freaked out by what we’d done and that I hadn’t left yet.

  It was possible, because I was a guy, and I didn’t always understand what a girl was thinking, or if I’d made a mistake.

  The kitchen was empty, though.

  I figured out where the glasses were, filled one with water from the dispenser in the fridge door, and then drank it in large gulps while I stood in the dark room. Fucking her had been a workout and I needed to hydrate.

  When I went back for a refill, the dispenser lighting up my glass, I heard music coming from somewhere else in the house. It was only a few chords before it stopped, and I tilted my head, trying to determine where it had come from.

  Like a weird game of Marco Polo, I got snippets from a guitar to help guide me in the right direction. I carried my glass down the hall and toward a set of French doors. Only one side was cracked open, but it didn’t matter. They were made of glass, so I could see inside the music room.

  Erika sat on the edge of a leather couch with an acoustic guitar in her lap. She wasn’t wearing anything but her long reddish-brown hair, and the guitar teasingly hid her nakedness. The sight of her like that squeezed my lungs.

  She looked down at the strings as she searched for the right chord, ignoring the open journal beside her on the couch, and she was lit by the moonlight pouring in through the arched window.

  She was fucking gorgeous.

  Shit, she was going to ruin other women for me.

  Maybe that was a stupid thought. I was kind of convinced she already had.

  Like an idiot, I stood in the shadows of the hall and watched as she plucked her way through another measure and looked satisfied with the results. She picked up her pen, scribbled something in the journal, and then dropped it with a hurried thud like she was eager to get back to the strings.

  Whatever she’d been struggling with, apparently it’d been solved, because she didn’t start and stop this time. Erika straightened her shoulders, adjusted her grip on the neck of the guitar, and began to play. Even if I didn’t know a thing about song structure, I would have recognized she was starting at the beginning.

  The melody was . . . beautiful.

  It took its time and reminded me of someone breathing in deep breaths.

  When she began to softly sing, the hairs on the back of my neck stood. Goosebumps lifted on my arms. While the volume of her voice was low, the intensity behind it was so powerful I tightened my hold on my glass of water.

  It made me a willing slave, unable to do anything but listen to her music and try not to disrupt her. The moment was magic, even more than the last time I’d heard her sing, and I didn’t want to break the spell.

  Her song was about desire. How she was a prisoner beneath it and whoever she was singing about had such power over her. She sang it was scary, but . . . she didn’t want them to release her. She only wanted more.

  My pulse sped so fast, I wondered if my heart was going to explode. She couldn’t write for two years, and now it seemed like she couldn’t stop.

  Was this the song she was creating . . . for me?

  Because I wanted it to be, but—fuck—I really wanted it to be how she felt about me.

  Erika strummed her guitar, singing to herself as she stared off into the empty room, concentrating on the lyrics and the notes. When she ran out of song, I was lost. It was fucking heartbreaking there wasn’t more.

  “Is that my song?” I asked.

  “Jesus Christ!” she cried, jerking backward.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I pushed the door open and stepped into the room while she glared up at me. Her heart was pumping hard with shock, judging by how rapidly her chest was moving, but it would probably match mine. I was still reco
vering from hearing part of her song.

  “Is this like your thing?” she asked. “Sneaking up on me when I’m naked?”

  I laughed. “Do you want it to be? It worked out pretty great last time.”

  She pointed to the glass of water I was holding, and I handed it to her. She took a long sip, and warmth spread through me at this simple act of sharing. We’d shared way bigger things than this, but I liked it anyway.

  I sat down on the couch beside her, resisting the urge to sit too close. I didn’t want her to feel like I was crowding her.

  She pretended it wasn’t important to her, when it clearly was. “How much did you hear?”

  “All of it, I’m guessing.” I was dying inside but did my best not to show it. “I mean, of what you have so far, I think.”

  She clutched the guitar so tightly, her fingers squealed against the veneer. “And?”

  “And . . . it’s amazing.” Hopefully, she understood how serious I was.

  It seemed like it because air seeped out of her in a relaxed sigh.

  “Is it the song for me?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows pulled together, creating a crease between them. “I . . . This wasn’t what I was working on this morning.”

  Interesting.

  “Another song?” I grinned. “You weren’t hearing music for two years, and all of a sudden, it’s nonstop.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, unamused. “Are you going to tell me your dick is magic again?”

  “Do I need to? I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

  She smiled and shook her head, humoring me. It made the long curtain of her hair shimmer, and I slid closer, looping a strand around my finger. The atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming intense and serious.

  My voice dipped to a hush. “Still haven’t answered my question, Erika.”

  Her eyes were wild and her expression anxious, like she worried her answer was signing the song rights over to me alone and for all time. I opened my mouth to tell her that wasn’t true. She hadn’t even finished—

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s for you.”

  I kissed her, because how could I not? I’d only heard part of the song, but I’d wanted it so badly, it felt like an enormous gift. No, not felt—it was a gift.