Hard

by Donna Alam

  Then I spot him. Keir. Maybe a dozen steps behind me as I turn to the staircase. A mixture of anticipation and excitement and, yes, fear fill my chest cavity as I place my feet one after another to climb.

  What if he doesn’t follow me?

  What if he does?

  He looked so angry. So hurt.

  At the third floor, I turn left and walk the length of the corridor, taking a sly glance at the open staircase and rolling my lips inward to hide my wide smile of relief. He’s following. But what next?

  No modern key card at this hotel. Rather, a large ornate key on a large red tassel matches the plaque with the name of the room. Lillith. I push the door open, glad the room was left in some semblance of order, and ignoring the faint scent of lube in the air, I step inside and leave the door ajar.

  Leaning against the frame of the wrought-iron four poster bed, I close my eyes a moment before the door creaks open.

  I breathe in. Breathe out. Try to ignore the hammer of my pulse as I feel him drawing closer. Hear his footsteps. Feel his eyes on me.

  I wet my lips as his words wind their way around my ear as his fingers brush a lock of hair from my cheek.

  ‘You. Are. Trouble.’

  I open my eyes to his impassive expression. His strong arms crossed over his chest. Flecks of green and gold glow in his hazel gaze; his lips relaxed, but his jaw tense.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

  ‘What did it look like?’ his low voice almost growls.

  ‘Like I was on a date.’

  ‘Drinking wine. In a hotel. With a man trying to impress you.’

  ‘He wasn’t—’

  ‘Trouble and oblivious. And a liar?’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘But you like him?’

  I wet my lips and roll them together. Neither answer works here. If I say yes, I’m a conniving bitch. If I say no, I’m a liar. Could I see myself dating Troy? Yeah. Before Keir, I actually could. Now? I can’t see anything but the man in front of me.

  ‘You wet for him?’

  My heart begins to thud. He has no right to ask me something like that, and I don’t have to answer him . . . even as I find myself widening my stance.

  Keir sighs, conflicted. At least, that’s what it looks like as he takes my hands in his and encourages me to grasp the hem of my skirt. I wriggle it upwards until it’s gathered at my waist—it’s so tight it stays there. But I don’t have time to feel even slightly ridiculous as he takes my hand, slides it down my stomach, and tucks my fingers under the pale pink silk of my panties.

  ‘You show me,’ he demands, covering my hand with his.

  I don’t know whether to concentrate on his gaze or the path of my fingers right now. They’re both equally as unravelling. Equally as demanding.

  ‘Spread your legs wider.’ The heat in his gaze is unhinging; the low, seductive bass of his tone as tempting as the devil himself. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘If I touch myself and I’m wet, you’ll think I’m into him.’

  ‘Will I? Or maybe I’ll just get off on watching you touch yourself. Come on, trouble. You brought me up here for a reason.’

  Did I? An unconscious decision to be with him. ‘It’s not even Friday,’ I whisper, tilting my hips, my fingers toying with the thin strip of ribbon above the silk.

  ‘I’m good with that,’ he murmurs, toying with a lock of my hair. Flicking the ends across my skin, he then pushes it from my shoulder. ‘Touch yourself. For me.’ A shiver shimmers across my skin, desire jumping between us like the dance of electricity as he watches me wet my parched lips, his eyes falling instinctively to where my hand slips under the ribbon adorned waistband.

  At the first brush of my own clit, my legs begin to shake, and I whimper from the sensation. Keir presses his lips against mine, whispering a soft hush into my mouth.

  ‘I left the door open. Unless you want an audience . . . ’

  ‘My eyes flick to the door, which is barely ajar, but the threat of discovery is there. And the threat of discovery seems to heighten things. Exponentially.

  Who is this girl I’ve become?

  I push up into my hand, sliding two fingers along my wetness, whimpering as I bring them back to my clit again.

  And he watches. Watches my fingers. Watches my face. Bites his lip as though he’s dying for a taste.

  ‘You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,’ his voice rumbles. ‘I have never wanted you more than I do right now.’

  I cry out softly, his words unravelling me, his gaze intoxicating me more than any liquor or drug could. I’ve never done this—never gotten myself off for someone else’s enjoyment. And it’s a powerful feeling to know that your touches are turning someone on. Someone other than you.

  I begin petting and moving two fingers in a well-practised rhythm of small circles against my clit. But I want more. How can I not when he’s standing in front of me, his eyes dark, his muscled arms flexing under the soft cotton of his Henley as his fists clench and unclench as though he’s dying to touch me himself.

  I arch against the bedpost, pushing harder into my hand, wanting more pressure, more everything.

  ‘Show me. Show me how wet you are for me.’ His daring demands have me arching my back against hand.

  ‘Touch me,’ I beg. ‘Fuck me. I want to feel you.’

  ‘Show me what’s mine,’ he demands. ‘Show me what’s mine, and I’ll make it so good.’

  I pull my fingers from my panties to hook my thumbs into the sides, shimmying them part way down my thighs. The material of my skirt bunched around my waist, I scissor the wetness between my two fingers.

  ‘Fuck me, you’re dripping.’ Keir’s eyes dart from my glistening fingers to my exposed pussy.

  In a heartbeat, he grasps my wrist, his eyes falling closed as he sucks my fingers into his mouth. If I wasn’t turned on before, you can bet I am now. His tongue works those two digits like his tongue is a stripper and my fingers the pole. And the noises he makes? It’s like I’m pure gourmet.

  Outside in the corridor, a door slams, and I jump, trying to take back my hand. To no avail as, with one last flick, he pulls my fingers free and jams them between my legs. I cry out long and loud.

  ‘You’re gonna make yourself come,’ he growls, ‘and I’m gonna help.’

  I don’t register much else as he slides my fingers back to my clit, replacing them with his own. He works me roughly—deeply—his fingers spearing sharply before curling inside.

  ‘You can do better than that.’

  My legs turn to liquid as I begin to apply pressure to the tight bundle of nerves as his fingers thrust and scissor, curl and torment. And all the while, he’s whispering the sweetest of filth.

  Of how he knows what I need.

  How he’ll fill me.

  Stick his fingers inside me.

  His cock.

  How when he’s done with me, I won’t know my own name.

  ‘Jesus Christ, I need to fuck you.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘You’re gonna come all over my fingers, then you’re gonna lick them clean.’ I nod again. ‘Then you’re gonna come home with me and sit on my face.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘That’s no’ very polite.’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I’m rocking up into both our hands now, the images his words conjure pushing me closer to the edge. I’m gasping—whimpering—chanting his name. And I’m coming hard, exploding in a burst of blinding heat and pure ecstasy.

  And then I’m coming down, down onto his hand. Down into his kiss. And I don’t care if I never move again. That is, until he whispers those magic words,

  ‘Sweetheart, come home with me.’

  Chapter 20

  KEIR

  I think I could love her.

  Seriously. How mad is that? And it’s not because of my reaction to seeing her with another man—I’m not a complete meathead. Okay, maybe I’m a little bit of a meathead. But at least I didn’t want to hit her over
the head with my caveman club and drag her back to my lair. Much. So I wanted to do some of that. Grab her by the hair, though not for dragging purposes. Holding her hostage by it, maybe. All right, I’ll admit it—definitely. It makes me rock fucking hard. But the club across the head I’ll save for Mr Sexy Specs. He was lucky I didn’t wallop him as I passed.

  ‘What are you staring at?’

  Bright sunlight fills the grey interior of my bedroom, and I suddenly realise how fucking dreary the room is. Dark heavy furniture so dreary compared to the brilliant blue of those eyes peeking above the quilt she’s pulled up over her nose. She blinks up at me and everything stops; my thoughts no longer like a great rush of water tumbling over rocks.

  ‘Clearly,’ she says, pulling the bedding to under her chin. ‘You’re stunned how you got such a gorgeous creature into your bed.’

  ‘Aye, that’s exactly right.’ My mouth tugs into a reluctant smile. ‘I’m staring at you, wondering how on earth a creature as lovely as you came to be here.’

  ‘I came by invitation’, she purrs. ‘And it was fan-tastic.’

  We did have an awesome night, and my bed certainly bears the evidence of it. Pillows on the floor, the sheet creased like yesterday’s newspaper as it curls away from the edge of the mattress. Know what else bears the evidence of it? My abs. I feel like I’ve had the best workout ever.

  ‘The pleasure was all mine.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that.’ We use the moment to stare at each other, all goofy smiles—it seems like an endless, joyful moment. Or a perfect ruse as I whip the quilt from her grip, rendering her completely naked. ‘Hey!’ she squeals.

  In the morning light, she looks fantastic. All mussed up, messy hair, so soft and warm. Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth pulled into a soft vowel sound. You know the one; not a, not e, not i . . .

  ‘Oh . . . ’

  I insinuate myself between her legs, spreading my hands on her inner thighs to spread her open.

  ‘Fuck me, you are so pretty.’

  ‘Is that a compliment to—’

  I slide my finger through her soft pink ribbon of flesh, and she rises to my touch immediately, her words lost in the experience. Without thought, I’m above her, leaning on one arm. Gripping my cock, I slide it through her wetness.

  ‘You’re here. In my bed.’ My words are rough, my control tenuous, even as she takes my face in her hands.

  ‘That does appear to be the case. And I’m as surprised as you are, quite frankly.’

  What can I say? I don’t have a definitive answer for her. I can’t explain it either. The last woman I had in this bed . . . There hasn’t been any women in this bed. Period.

  ‘Were you trying to assuage your conscience?’

  I dip my hips, bringing my cock to line perfectly against her pussy. Framed by her sweet lips. ‘I heard sausage and conscience. You want me to sausage your conscience? By Christ, you’re into some filthy shit.’

  ‘I learned everything I know from a certain Scotsman. One with golden brown hair,’ she whispers, threading her fingers into my hair.

  Beneath me, her hardened nipples rub my chest, her body rocking up against me for the purpose of a little friction.

  ‘‘I’m so glad you said yes,’ I whisper, pressing my mouth against hers. Small, exploratory kisses become deeper and wetter, each press of our lips a little more desperate, each slip of tongue a little more real, until our tongues are tangling, our fingers grasping, and she’s moaning into my mouth.

  ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘About ten inches.’

  Paisley giggles, and it’s the best sound—the best fucking sound. Second only to Sorcha’s mirth.

  ‘You’re nuts, you know that?’

  ‘I’m aware,’ I growl into the soft skin of her neck. Licking, teasing, bringing her hands above her head. ‘I must be nuts not to have had you here before. Fucked you here in my bed.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She stretches out like a content cat.

  ‘Aye. This might be the first time, but it isn’t the last.’ My head is filled with filthy images, causing me to grind my hips into her. But my words? They’re the truth. Fridays aren’t enough and never will be again. I’m not sure how or why, but I need more of her. More of this—more fucking. More skin. More kisses and cuddles. More getting to know her. ‘I’m going to fuck you here in my bed. Then maybe in the shower. Maybe in the pool.’

  ‘I hope it’s not outdoors,’ she muses.

  ‘Then the kitchen. I’ll push your palms flat on the table, then I’ll stand between your legs and finger you until you’re dripping.’

  ‘Fingering is so underrated,’ she agrees all breathily, following the path of my gaze down our joined bodies. ‘Oh, my. That is so hot,’ she says, staring at the wet head of my cock, the rest of me nestled between her perfect pink lips.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ I can’t help my grin. The sight of me between her legs. The way her eyes have darkened. The way she doesn’t move her hands. ‘It’s all perfect. Picture fucking perfect. It makes me wish I had my phone.’

  ‘Do it,’ she whispers urgently. ‘Do it.’ It takes me a moment to realise she’s answering my lust-spilled words. ‘Use my phone, only don’t stop talking. Keep saying dirty things to me.’

  This girl. This girl right here? She’s fucking perfect.

  Her nightstand is nearer—it wasn’t hers before, but it is now—and her phone lies there encased in a glittery pink case. I feel the loss of her immediately as I reach for it, snagging it from the nightstand, and repositioning myself.

  ‘You really should have a passcode on this,’ I tell her as I open her phone.

  ‘Later. Now talk—we were in the kitchen.’

  ‘So we were.’

  Click. I take a photo of the length of my cock framed by her slick lips.

  ‘I’ll finger you until we can both hear how wet you are.’ I spread her thighs impossibly wide, lining myself up against her pussy.

  Click. My head, wet and glistening, balanced against her wetness.

  ‘Yes! How much I need you.’

  Click. Paisley’s hands on her tits, rosy nipples peeking between splayed fingertips.

  ‘Your pussy slippery and wet, your thighs coated in your own cum, I’ll shove my cock inside you so hard the table will be shunted across the room.’

  Click. Her body accepting me as I slide myself home.

  ‘Oh, God!’

  The phone abandoned to the mattress, her feet locked around my backs of my thighs, her long lashes closed and almost caressing her cheekbones. How did I not notice how long her lashes were? I rock into her, my muscles locked tight, my body’s instinctual responses screaming in my need to rut. To fuck. But this moment is different. More somehow. I don’t want it to end. This girl in my bed? Right now, she’s all I can think of. It’s like an obsession or a mania—and then it hits me: I’m infatuated. I can accept this. With some relief.

  I begin to move, to rock into her with tiny flexes of my hips. It’s slow and it’s torturous—for us both. The best kind of agony, and the best kind of ecstasy as I tease us with a rolling advance and retreat.

  ‘You feel so fucking good.’ I’m not sure if she hears me; my words are barely more than an exhale as I drive myself inside her body hard. ‘Oh, fuck.’ She clenches around me, lifting her hips to greet me.

  I slide my hand to the back of her knee, lifting her leg and bringing it to my shoulder. The change of depth is immediate; pleasure crawls along my spine and tightens my balls, causing me to grunt. And though she might not be wearing her fuck me heels, that’s okay. I bite her ankle anyway. She cries out. I thrust a little harder in response, unravelling us both a little more.

  ‘You feel so good.’ Her hands lift from her breasts, fingertips running up the ladder of my abs, then my ribs. ‘So hard inside me.’

  Compliments. They’re always good, but from her, they’re a little unhinging.

  ‘I want to eat your pussy. See my cum dripping f
rom your lips.’ A long, raspy groan accompanies my stream of filthy consciousness when she clenches around my dick, her short nails running over my nipples. The sensation resonates through me, my whole body seeming to ripple in response.

  I can’t think, and I can’t speak as her lush lips pull me like a magnet. She moans into my mouth, and I’m done for as she accepts me at both ends. Her leg falls from my shoulder, wrapping around me as things suddenly become frantic—everything growing in size—in magnitude—in sensation and consciousness. My heart feels like it could burst; our lips smash together as though I want her to inhale me. Accept all of me. Her fingers pull at my hair, and we can’t catch our breaths as I rock against her. Pace goes out of the window, replaced by nature and need. With each flex of my hips, our moans become louder and a little more desperate, her tits rubbing against me so deliciously it’s hard to hold back. My muscles ache and my pulse pounds as, my body covering hers, I alternate between deep, punishing thrusts and small punches of my hips, the kind of movement that rubs her clit.

  From her cries, Paisley loves it. Loves it all.

  My hands slide under her arse, pulling her to me, our joining an experience like nothing else.

  ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ she begins to chant. ‘I need.’

  ‘That fuckin’ accent,’ I growl into the soft skin of her neck, ‘drives me fuckin’ wild.’

  ‘I-I like you wild.’

  ‘And I like you fine. Just. Fuckin’. Fine.’

  Her arse in my big palms, I punctuate my words with my thrusts. My hips begin to jab and flex as I fuck her harder, my fingertips punishing against her flesh.

  ‘I can feel you,’ I rasp into the soft skin of her neck. ‘I can feel you coming around me.’

  As my words and my cock drive her to the edge, her whole body rocks against me, milking me, as she repeats my name again and again. At this moment, I’m aware of nothing else in this world. The sun could fall from the sky, or a supernova could swallow the earth, and I don’t think I would realise as Paisley cries out one last time, then falls apart in my arms.