by Angel Payne
“Ready for you,” I snap. “You mean…back there.”
More lube. More of his persistent prods. “I need to have all of you. I need to know you’ve given it all to me.”
At once, he’s stilled my squirms. Funneled my thoughts. Made me think, for a moment, beyond the uncomfortable thrusts of his fingers.
Instead, thinking about his voice.
About how his command has been given a new, pleading underline.
I need to have all of you.
All of me? How does he not know he already has that? Haven’t I made it clear, over every day over the last three months, that not a second goes by in which he doesn’t have me? Even when I was in New York, during every phone call and text and FaceTime conversation, he couldn’t grasp that fact as truth?
In helping myself answer that, I’m unable to stop more of those initial suspicions from sneaking back in.
Something’s changed for him.
And maybe not just over the last four days.
Maybe this trip simply provided the distance I needed to see it.
But whatever it is…he’s made it clear what he needs to deal with the situation.
Damn it.
The same words tumble off my lips as he spreads my flesh even wider…and then nudges his hard tip at the tingling rim of that forbidden entrance.
“My beauty. Oh, yes.”
To my shock, the caress of his penis and the brush of his words meld into a jolt through my sex, coming to a blistering end in my clit. My body, tremoring from the aftershock, actually jerks backward, working his cock inside me another half inch. I cling to the bedcover, afraid to admit that I want more…but dear God, I do…
“Velvet. Damn. You feel so good already.”
I yank in a shaky breath. “S-So do you.”
But now, he doesn’t return the tenderness. The potency of his lust, as tangible as the heat from the fire, breathes like a dragon in the air between us. The sound that rumbles from him is just as predatory and primitive, unfurling as slowly as the hand he hooks into the crevice between my leg and torso, securing my hips in place. He digs the grip in tight, securing me there…and pushing deeper into my back tunnel.
It hurts.
I moan.
He surges.
And moans deeper.
His fingers start to glow again. Their heat imprints my skin as he claims me with more of his cock.
Through the speakers, guitars grind. K.Flay wails about going higher, getting inspired, and never wanting to sober up. It’s perfect. I’m drunk too. I must be. As Reece starts thrusting in full, hard strokes, I’m a pool of languid, lusty submission. Everything only gets better when he curls his other hand in, fanning those glowing digits against the strip of curls guarding my pussy. As his shaft claims new parts of my body, a new hum emanates from his magical touch…and he works every one of those vibrating tips through my throbbing, needy folds.
“Oh…Oh!”
“Yes. Yes.” He snarls it into the dip between my shoulder blades, slicking my back with his sweat, igniting my skin with his lips. “Take it, Emma. Take all of it.”
“Yessss.” My acquiescence is barely a sound as my body becomes his complete possession. He’s breached me. Conquered me. Taken me prisoner in a kingdom of pleasure and pain and invasion and stimulation. High enough? Dear God, I’m beyond high. I’m on another plane. Existing for it. Accepting it all. I’m the willing vessel for his pleasure and the open conduit for my own. Entwined with having more of him. His cock, taking over my ass. His touch, the dictator of my arousal. His fluid, the life force in my blood. Every inch of every movement and every molecule of every breath is him…
My hero.
My lightning.
My love.
And now, in giant leaps of light and sensation, rapidly climbing toward another pedestal.
My release.
I know it, even as he lunges one more inch, stretches me in new depths. I reach for it, even as he moans and plunges again, doubling the agony of his entry. I scream for it as he slides his hot fingers through my folds and then fucks them into my other entrance.
I plead for it when he doesn’t stop.
“Reece. Reece!”
He fits his face against the curve of my neck. Clamps harder to my hip, yanking my body back onto his with a brutal pace. “Don’t ask me to stop, beauty,” he croaks. “I don’t know if I can.”
I bunch the coverlet beneath my fists. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
His breath catches, but that’s all I’ll receive for an answering laugh. “Sweet beauty,” he rasps. “My hot velvet bunny with her needy, wet pussy.”
“Yes,” I pant.
“And her tight, squeezing ass.”
“Yes.”
He bites into my neck. “Do they both want more of me?”
“Damn.” I twist the comforter hard enough to tear it. “Yes. More. Please, Reece. Give me more!”
And somehow, in some miraculous way, he does. Piercing me so deep. Hurting me so hard. Robbing every thought from my head. Ripping every instinct and need from my body…but one. The yearning to give up the last piece to him. To come apart for him.
And I do.
Without warning, the explosion slams. I’m a thousand shards of sexual shrapnel ablaze at the same time, splintering until my mouth opens on a silent scream, as every membrane of my sex convulses and contracts and shudders and flutters.
I’ve been struck by lightning.
I’ll never be the same.
For a moment, Reece freezes. Even his breathing is just shallow stutters, before he grates, “Fuck me. My Velvet.”
And then, he’s no longer combusting the fire. He is the inferno, his fingers filling my womb with heat as he spills his come into my trembling back hole. And as he’s promised, he doesn’t stop. As his thrusts intensify, his double-sided burn is like a fresh match on my lust. I’m rocketed into a new orbit, coming for him again, this time managing at least a shredded shriek to give away my unrivaled, unending ecstasy.
But in gradual increments, it does finally end—at least for both of our physical selves. Reluctantly, I force my lungs to take deeper breaths, my heartbeat to consider the realm of normalcy. But even as Reece eases out of me and returns from a trip to the bathroom with a moistened towel, my senses aren’t such an easy sell on the whole “normal” thing. I attempt to communicate that much with a weary glance at the man sliding up next to me on the mattress.
“Jesus. Wept.”
I issue it with half a laugh, hoping Reece is able to decipher since there’s no way I’m moving from my stomach-down sprawl for at least an hour. But my chuckle is cut short by my own yelp, as Reece smacks a possessive hand on my ass.
“Let him bawl.” He smooths his newly normal fingers across my flesh. The cooler contact mellows the sting on my flesh into a delicious warmth. “This is still all mine.”
A new shriek, as he embellishes by biting me there too. “Yo, Scrooge.” I quip. “Don’t you know sharing is caring?”
“Hmmph.” He slides his lips up my back. “I share lots of things. The road. The elevator. Inspiring Twitter posts. Steak marinade recipes. Even cab rides, from time to time.”
I visibly start. “Okay, whoa.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been in a real-life taxi cab?”
His casual shrug is the kind of charming most men have to practice. “In Europe. When I had no other choice. And probably too much to drink.”
I fling up a hand. “You’re edging on TMI territory, mister.” Though the sketchy details and his averted gaze already fill in the unwanted blanks. Having “no other choice” means he was likely dragged into the cab by a woman—or two or three—even if “too much to drink” wasn’t part of the equation. And though I fell in love with him knowing all this in full, thanks to “journalists” like Stall Stalker Blair, it’s not something I’ll ask him to reminisce about. I know he gets it—even right now, as he moves my hair away from my face
and over my shoulder, continuing the pressure onto my scalp as a silent order to look back up at him.
“Hey.”
His charge isn’t just a cute greeting. I comply with the command, but not eagerly. “What?”
He traces my cheek with a thumb. “None of that is my life anymore, Emma.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, damn it.” I toss back an irked snip to his tight demand. “It’s just that…”
“Just that what?”
Short huff. A longer sigh. “I’m just going to need lots more moments like this, Mr. Richards.” My attempt at using the formality for levity is a failure. “Okay?” I add, attempting to backfill the awkward silence.
Reece frowns. Seriously, this lazing god, with his naked, nickless limbs covered in all that taut, tanned flesh, looks genuinely confused by my assertion. “Moments like what?”
“Oh, come on.” I sit up straight, dragging one of the massive pillows over to cover at least part of me. I’m not bashful about my nudity—after the last half hour, the man’s officially seen every crevice of my body—but the subject matter has definitely steered toward pillow-worthy discomfort. “I bet I’m the very first woman you’ve ever taken the anal sex cherry from.” I cock my head. “Yeah?”
He jerks his head up, away from the elbow on which he’s been angling. “Wait. Fuck.” He grabs my wrist and frantically peruses my face. “Are you…saying…that was…”
“Are you saying you couldn’t tell?”
Another one of his effortless, gorgeous shrugs. “Most women play coy about it. Guess there’s the nice-girl dirty-girl stigma.”
“Most women,” I mutter. “And oh, yeah. The ‘stigma.’ Of course, you know all about that too.”
His gaze, which hasn’t strayed a millimeter from me, also doesn’t register comprehension of my accusation. “But…you liked it so much, baby.”
“Duh.” I really do bark out a laugh now. “Because it was you.”
“No.” He makes me dizzy as he leans all the way over, cupping the side of my face. “No.” Then a little bit more, as he lowers a resounding kiss across my lips. “Because it was you, Emmalina.”
And once again, he’s dashed my determined plans into giddy girl dust. Just like that, he’s taken my weird mix of qualms and doubts and self-skepticism, ground them up beneath the boulder of his love, and then rolled the stone away to let the sun shine in on my pulverized heart.
And in true giddy girl fashion, it sparkles.
And in true snarky girl fashion, I hope he’s blinded by the shine.
But only for a few seconds.
Only long enough for me to roll over so I can initiate our next kiss. As our bodies mold tightly, I rejoice in his masculine taste, his dark-spiced scent, and his perfect, loving embrace. We tangle like that for a long minute, tongues dancing and limbs grasping, until he pulls back to let me take in his soft, adoring smile.
“Emmalina Paisley Crist, you’re a goddess.”
I bop his jawline with my fingertips. “And you’re a dork.” But I quickly turn my touch into a caress, grazing the irresistible spikes along his jaw. “But you’re my dork.”
He expels a long breath, nearly as if he’s had a prayer answered, though his gaze turns the color of somber mist. “Don’t you mean your glowing freak?”
“Hey.” I’m back to lightly smacking him. “If I’m not allowed the insecurity party, neither are you, buster. Besides”—I shimmy my crotch against his, adding a mischievous grin—“I think it’s clear that I like how you dance a Friday night away.”
His lips loosen with a spurt. “Disco down, baby.”
“Oh, God.” With my groan, I push at him a little harder. When he gives in, rolling to his back, I swing one leg over until I’m straddling him—and the erection that already surges beneath my suggestive rubbing. “I’m not sure about you, disco duck—but let’s just say I never knew I liked dancing so much.”
As he sprawls his hands over my thighs, clutching deeper to settle me more firmly on his shaft, he’s got to be the most breathtaking male on the planet. At once, I yearn to lick his entire burnished chest. Suckle hard at his nipples until they’re pinpoints against his pecs. Continue up to his taut jaw, tangling my hands in the decadent thickness of his hair.
“Maybe we should take another spin on the dance floor,” he purrs with wildcat intent.
“Hmmm.” I trail my hands atop his, letting my head roll as tiny stars of sensuality spread out from my center. “Maybe we should.”
“Only, this time, it’s ladies’ choice.” He flashes a grin of faux innocence when I narrow my gaze. “I’m completely serious. Cross my heart, hope to die.”
“Do not joke about that.” I lean forward, capturing his wrists in my hands on the way down. “Not even a little.”
His features soften. Only by a little, but enough to convey he’s followed exactly where my mind has just gone. Back to the night he donned the Bolt leathers and sped to the El Segundo power station, lured by a false alarm that was staged by the Consortium and carried out by their key henchwoman in LA: Angelique La Salle, aka the ex-lover who’d betrayed Reece and dragged him into their clutches to begin with. The bitch had clearly been instructed to engage him in some kind of showdown, defeat him, and haul him back to their lab alive, but Mother Nature and Father Coincidence had other plans that night. A freak downpour and a downed powerline had nearly added up to a fried boyfriend when the ground itself became a charged electrical field, though ironically, the eruption saved Reece’s life. Without it, he would have been Angelique’s certain captive.
And what about the bitch herself? Surprise-not-surprise, the woman had survived the entire incident unscathed—at least physically. As for the gray matter beneath her insanely awesome supermodel hair? Way more debatable, since the woman had come trolling at my apartment less than a week later. Yes, in broad daylight. Yes, as her picture and stats were still being blasted across every news outlet, police scanner, and TSA checkpoint in the city. She’d slithered away after I chose to call her bluff instead of shiver in fear, but she likely didn’t get very far. If the Consortium didn’t execute her for the botch, she went underground to a place that probably makes her wish they had.
And that is all the consideration I choose to give Angelique La Salle tonight. Or any more thoughts of the six thousand ways she’s betrayed and fucked up the man I love. Yeah, yeah, so there’s the argument that he wouldn’t be the man I love without the hell he endured in the Consortium’s captivity, but I choose the old-fashioned response to that one. He was always this man, all along. With a little patience, love, and a few thousand dollars in therapy, he would’ve gotten to the same realization. Those lunatics in lab coats just took him there the quick and ugly way.
Reece’s caresses pull me out of my silent anger. “No more jokes,” he joins them in a murmur, stamping each syllable with searing sincerity. His gaze supports the message, the silver of his desire mixing with the gold of the sunset now streaming through the shutters and across the bed. “No more jokes,” he repeats. “Just me, Velvet. It’s all just me, here for you…always.”
His declaration is like the sea beyond the balcony. Full of whispers and mist on the surface, surging with strength just beneath. I let the power of his ocean wash over me, pulling my passion higher, until I’m rocking my hips up and down, working the slick lips of my sex over every inch of his surging shaft. Holy shit. Electric come or not, I can’t ever get enough of this man’s cock. Some generous angel created him just for me, and I will forever be grateful—a fact I blissfully set myself to proving right now.
“Damn!” he grates as I dip forward, crushing my breasts to his chest and sliding more of my needy slit over his hot length. I run my hands higher, meshing our fingers. His thighs go taut as he starts lifting his hips, matching my increasing rhythm. “Christ. Emma.”
“Yes, Mr. Richards?” Threaded with m
y breath, my tone is a sultry tease.
“Let me into that perfect pussy. Fuck. Please.”
His plea is my command—though I’m hardly going to tell him that. Instead, I work my hips against him in tiny circles, which soon sends us both into heavy breathing mode. We taunt each other with short, hot kisses as veins begin to bulge along his cock and an answering flow of arousal pulses from my core.
I want him.
I need him.
I spread wider for him…
As a cell phone notification slashes the air.
“No.” Reece’s protest is nearly as violent as the buzz, which persists as I push up, lifting both hands.
“Well, don’t look at me.” I giggle as he sits up, dragging hands through the tangles atop his head.
“Damn it,” he grumbles. “I only had it set for important shit to come through but meant to turn the whole thing off once we got here.”
I give his firm ass a light spank as he stands. “Well, you’ve been a little distracted.”
“Most important distraction in my world.”
“Yeah, yeah. You want some milk with all that sickening sugar?”
“I’ll show you milk, baby.”
There’s no chance for me to get in a good comeback, since he highlights the point by swooping up from where he’s yanked the phone out of his pants, only to lose his grip and watch the device shoot out toward me. I yelp as it lands on my bare stomach. I flip it over to hand it back to him—
But I don’t.
I rear back, my new glare still glued to the screen—as well as the name of the person Reece has cleared for his “important shit.” But the final bullet that shoots my heart down into my stomach? The actual message this “important” person has sent him.
“Mr. Richards?” It’s quite possibly the first time I’ve ever sneered his name in derision instead of issuing it with respect…or desire. “Who the hell is ‘Sally,’ and why the hell does she want ‘every inch of you’ at ‘the usual place’ by midnight tonight?”
Chapter Three
Reece