My words seem to prod the beast in Lawson’s eyes that’s been tethered up and pacing about in his head tonight. “My problem,” he growls, the sound sending shivers racing up my neck, “is you.”
“No shit, Lawson! What about me?” I challenge.
“You conveniently left out that you were fucking someone else.”
My mouth pops open in confusion, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words. After a moment, my brain starts to work again and I fire my questions at him. “What? Who? What makes you think that?”
“CC,” he says, practically fuming. “I didn’t know you were fucking your ‘best friend,’” he uses air quotes around the words, “who, by the way, we all thought was a damn woman. I saw you two earlier.” He must understand the look of confusion on my face because he clarifies. “I saw you two leaving Stella’s all lovey-dovey. I saw y’all again after dropping Smith off when I came to get my ladder. I looked over at the house and saw you in the window when he took off his shirt. You closed the curtains before I could see more, but it was pretty clear what y’all were about to do.”
Lawson’s anger is causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly while my own mind is trying to process what the hell is happening. I’m not sure if I want to laugh, shout, or cry at how wrong he has things. I open my mouth to correct him but stop myself because he should already know the type of person I am. Instead of accusing me and jumping to conclusions, he should’ve just asked me. Besides, he has no right to be angry.
“What the hell does it matter, Lawson? Why do you even care?” I call him out, my voice rising higher with each question. “You told me from the beginning that this was just a temporary arrangement for the summer.” I realize I’m gesturing wildly with the hand holding the jar of jelly, so I set it down on the table beside us before I hit him over the head with it. “Why do you care if I’m fucking Cade, huh?” I taunt, pushing him to answer.
My outburst and lack of denial seem to catch him off guard. After a second, a scowl mars his features and he looks larger than life as his outrage builds higher and hotter than an inferno. I watch him, and the detached part of me that isn’t lit up with frustration is acknowledging how sexy he looks right now, all manners and pleasantries forgotten in his anger.
“I care,” he says as leans in closer to me, “because you said you weren’t looking for anything serious, but something serious is obviously going on. I. Don’t. Fucking. Share,” he spits out. “I don’t ever mess around with women who are taken because shit gets complicated.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Lawson! And neither are you! I’m not yours!”
“True, I’m not your boyfriend, but I fucking told you countless times, Mac, that I’d be the only one to take care of you,” he shouts.
“Oh, like you’re not out fucking other women?” I challenge.
“No. I told you I don’t do repeats. I don’t have double standards either. I fuck one person at a time, Mac.”
“Lawson.” I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose in agitation. “Who I sleep with is none of your business. At the end of the day, I’m moving. You don’t want anything serious. Let’s leave it at that. I honestly think you’re just jealous of Cade.”
I open my eyes and see his smirk, which is usually so playful and charming, look full of disdain. “The only thing I’m jealous of is the fact that he lives with someone who’s a guaranteed lay.”
I don’t even think before my hand whips out and slaps him hard across his cheek. His face has turned slightly at the impact, and he glares at me in surprise. My palm and fingers sting, each nerve screaming and tingling, the evidence of my reaction clear in the angry-looking handprint left on Lawson’s cheek.
“You watch how you talk to me, Lawson Westbrook. You may not like what I do or agree with it, but you will fucking respect me.”
We don’t speak as we stare at each other. Even though we’re both pissed off, I can’t fight the invisible pull of attraction that still connects us. This man makes it impossible to see or think clearly.
“You know what?” I finally say as I take a step back from him. “I’m going to bed. We obviously have very different thoughts on the matter. This isn’t working. I’m done,” I say in parting as I move to leave.
I barely make it two steps before he grabs my arm, halting my progress.
“Let me go.” I glare at him before looking pointedly at his offending hand, which he slowly removes.
“No.” He sounds resolute.
I raise my eyes and am face to face with his chest when I speak again. “I told you I was done, Lawson.”
“But I’m not done,” he says.
“You are unbel—”
My words are cut off with a hard, bruising kiss. Even though I’m angry, even though I am beyond frustrated, I’m held captive by Lawson’s demanding lips and tongue. His exasperation is coming through in his kiss because he isn’t gentle. Instead, I feel like he’s branding me with each swipe of his lips, claiming me as his with each pass of his tongue. I moan at the sensation of being dominated by him through this small point of contact. He groans in response as he moves one hand to my waist and the other to the back of my head where he deftly removes the pins, causing my hair to fall free of my bun and tumble over my shoulders. The pins fall to the floor in dull thuds as Lawson drops them before gripping a handful of my hair and tugging my head back.
I force my eyes open and drink in Lawson’s fierce expression.
“Law—” I start to say before he tugs my head back the tiniest fraction.
“No, you’ve said your piece,” he grates. “Now it’s my turn, Mac.”
I open my mouth to retort but snap it shut at his expression.
“I probably didn’t make myself clear when we set up this arrangement, Mac,” he says as he stares me straight in the eyes. “But you,” he lifts me up and swings me around so I’m sitting on the table, “and this,” he spreads my thighs with his hips and grips my pussy over my jeans, “are mine.” He leans in so his temple rests against mine before he tilts his head to speak against my neck. “Only mine. No one else’s,” he breathes, the feeling of his lips against my tender flesh causing goosebumps to break out across my skin.
He pulls away and his hands are everywhere, branding my skin with their heat and intensity. He doesn’t ask permission as he jerks my tank top over my head, and he doesn’t need to because angry, passionate Lawson has me aching in ways I never saw coming. I whimper as he unhooks my bra and roughly palms my breasts before tugging on my nipples with the hardened pads of his fingers. It’s obvious we’re both still running high on emotion, but lust is overriding everything. In this moment we are both animals, slaves to our baser desires, and there’s no room for gentleness or sweet words.
I reach my arms around and slide my hands up his back, clawing at his skin as he continues to torture my nipples. With each rake of my nails against his back he tugs harder. I can’t bring myself to stop chasing the feeling that’s a direct line to my throbbing clit.
Just when I think I can take no more he pushes me flat on my back, hastily unbuttons my jeans, and drags them down my legs. His hands travel from my ankles to my hips with a heavy touch, and in seconds his hands are wrapped up in the strings of my panties.
“This is going to be rough,” he pants as he tears my panties in half and away from my body in one swift movement.
I can only nod and whimper a desperate sound as response.
“This isn’t for you.” He runs his fingers over my exposed slit, and I buck on the table when his fingers briefly circle my clit before pulling away. “This is to remind you of who you belong to,” he says as he plunges two fingers inside of me, his fingers sliding easily into my drenched center. He may say it isn’t for me but his expert touch still sets all my nerve endings on fire in the best way.
I may be naked and exposed as I lie before him but I feel a small rebelliousness well up. “I belong to no one,” I manage to gasp out with difficulty as I fight the druggi
ng effect of his touch.
My words incense him, and in the next instant he removes his fingers from my body. “You’re mine, Mac. You’re going to admit it before I’m through with you,” he promises darkly in a voice made of pure gravel and smoke, his drawl more pronounced.
I’ve always been yours, my mind screams. I’ll always be yours, my heart cries. I refuse to admit it though, taking selfish satisfaction in Lawson’s possessive streak that I’m sure we both didn’t know was there.
His hand moves lower between my legs and finds the part of me that can’t lie to him, no matter how much I wish it would. His stance widens and pins my thighs to the table’s edge as his fingers dip in and swirl around my wetness before entering and working me like a tool he uses on a daily basis. He knows my body better than I know my own, and I’m soon delirious with pleasure. His touch alternates between slow, rough pumps and pinches or slaps to my clit with his wet fingers. He’s still got ahold of my hair, so I close my eyes and run my hands down my body and over my breasts and stomach, savoring each poignant touch. I reverse the path and travel by hands back up my body before I raise them above me and claw at the smooth, textured surface of the table in a futile effort to keep the oncoming orgasm at bay. I want to prolong this erotic torture as much as possible, I never want it to end, but I don’t know if I can hold off. My hands do another sweep and bump against something, the sound of it thumping back into place jarring me momentarily. The sound causes Lawson to suddenly withdraw his hands from my body just as I’m about to detonate into pleasure.
I whimper and close my eyes in frustration because I was so close. Lawson is still standing between my legs, the only contact between us his jean-clad thighs against mine. A few moments pass before I hear him chuckle seductively as he reaches for something behind me. It must be the offending object that stopped the flood of pleasure Lawson was giving me. I’m still catching my breath when I hear the sound of something opening. A moment later, I feel Lawson run a single finger from the base of my throat all the way down to my clit. He does this again a few times, occasionally making a detour to circle his finger around my painfully erect nipples. He finally pulls his finger away, and I wait in anticipation for him to repeat the action again.
My eyes fly open in surprise when his finger returns because this time it’s sticky. He’s putting something on me and tracing his finger in an entirely different pattern. I look down and see he’s writing on me. Just as the scent hits me, I realize what the stickiness belongs to: apple jelly. He starts at one nipple and makes a few jagged strokes before ending at my other nipple. His finger dips back into the mason jar and comes back to my skin, where he firmly makes a straight line done my stomach, the gleam of possession in his eyes bright.
As he starts the next shape over my belly button, I realize he’s writing letters. I imagine what it looks like from his point of view and gasp as his last letter ends right over my pussy. He licks the remaining jelly from his fingertip and looks down at me in satisfaction, obviously pleased with his handiwork.
“What’s that say, Mac?”
I look again and finally see the letters he’s painted across my skin: M-I-N-E.
“It says ‘mine,’” I respond faintly. I should probably be upset that he’s essentially branded me, but all I feel is giddiness.
“That’s right, darlin’. You’re mine. Every inch of you. Mine.” His words ring with confidence and finality. “Now, who do you belong to?” he asks.
I squeeze my lips together and refuse to answer, holding on to the last bit of stubbornness left and curious to see what he’ll do next. I shake my head up at him and glare. I expect him to send me an answering glare, but instead he smirks. This can’t be good.
He doesn’t say anything as he leans down and covers my right nipple with his mouth and sucks, hard and hot. My back bows away from the table at his ministrations. He follows the path of the apple jelly he put on my skin and kisses, grazes, nips, bites, and licks it all away.
By the time he’s done with the first letter, I’m shaking. By the time he’s finished with the second letter, my pussy is leaking arousal everywhere. By the time he’s finished with the third letter, I’m crying out at the pleasure that is borderline painful because there’s so much of it. Before moving to the last letter, he looks back up at me and his expression is wicked and serious.
“These letters don’t need to be on your skin for me to know you’re mine, Mac,” he says right before he dives in and attacks my center with his wet lips and tongue. Most times he’s gone down on me before now have been unhurried because he enjoys taking his time to taste me at his leisure, ensuring I have a long, slow buildup to my orgasm. Now, though, he eats my pussy greedily with every trick he has in his arsenal.
By the time he’s done with the last letter, I’m screaming out in orgasm and my body is wracking in waves of pleasure, tears streaming down my face at the strength of my release. He’s right; I feel like he’s etched himself into every molecule of my skin and I fear I’ll never be free of him or the way he makes me feel.
I’m barely coming down from my orgasm when he flips me over so I’m lying on my stomach, my body flush with the tabletop. One hand cracks down like lightening on my ass cheek, and the other grips a handful of hair and tugs my head back, pulling roughly. Oh heavens, I think to myself as I arch my back and neck to get closer to him, this is incredible. It’s almost too much but yet, at the same time, not enough. Never enough.
I hear his pants unzip and hear the sound of a condom wrapper opening. I brace myself, beyond ready for his hot length to enter me. His hand comes down and smacks my other ass cheek, the sweet sting of it soothed by his calloused hands rubbing my skin and squeezing the flesh there. He alternates between each cheek and occasionally dips down to touch my pussy, wet and wanting with the need to be filled. With another tug of my hair he grips my hip and enters me quickly and roughly. I cry out at the intensity and fullness of it. Even though I’m soaked, he’s still so big and is more than a snug fit. Instead of giving me time to adjust like he normally does, he pulls back out and rams back in, slamming into my body at an unforgiving pace. The slight sting kicks my pleasure up another notch and I’m crying out, trying but failing to push back against him because I’m still flush against the table and pinned in place by his hard body.
He continues to tug my hair and slap my ass between his punishing, heavenly strokes. He’s never been so rough with me and I love it, exalt in it, want to live in it for as long as I can handle.
“Play with your clit,” he orders in a gritty voice heavy with desire.
I try to touch myself with one hand but have difficulty getting my hand underneath me, the intensity of his thrusts making my body bounce. He notices because he moves his hand from my hair and maneuvers one arm underneath my hips to support me, lifting just enough so I can squeeze my hand between my legs.
“I’ve got you,” he growls against my back.
I successfully bring my hand to my clit and play with myself, the sensation of Lawson using my body for his pleasure and me seeking my own relief almost too much to bear. I can feel myself getting close to another orgasm and my pussy tightens.
“Fuck, your pussy squeezes my cock so perfectly,” he groans. “Who do you belong to, Mac?”
I’m surprised at his words but ignore him, instead focusing on my fingers. Lawson makes a sound of displeasure and halts his movements. He’s still seated deeply inside of me, his cock twitching, but he is no longer moving back and forth. I cry out and try to push back against him, eager to feel his thick length entering me, but he squeezes my body tight with the arm that’s around me, the tight band of muscle effectively halting my movements.
“I said,” he repeats, “who do you belong to?”
“No one,” I pant.
“Wrong answer, darlin’,” he says as he withdraws and enters me again in one rough thrust. I gasp at the hard intrusion and want to curse at him for not moving again, but my brain can only do so much.
“Now,” he breathes against my ear, “who do you belong to?”
“Who do you belong to, Lawson?” I ask. I try to sound confident and sure, but my voice comes out sounding vulnerable.
He groans against my back at my words. I don’t think he’s going to answer, but he surprises me when he says, his voice low and borderline inaudible, “You, Mac. Only you.”
His words and the tone in which he says them, as if they are being ripped out of a secret place against his will, tear down the walls around my guarded heart. I feel unshed tears well up in my eyes and, as one breaks free and travels down my cheek, I surrender.
“I’m yours too, Lawson. Only yours,” I whisper.
The words are barely out of my mouth before Lawson is slamming back into me, his cock feeling impossibly larger and harder than before.
“Fuck, yes. You. Are. Mine,” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust.
Before long I’m at the brink of orgasm again, my fingers working my clit madly as he continues to press against the spot inside me that has me seeing stars.
“Almost there, Lawson. I’m almost there,” I manage to get out.
“Me too, darlin’. Let me help you get there,” he says as he continues his expert thrusts.
I’m not sure what he means, but his meaning is soon clear when I feel his hand join my hand from behind. I think he’s going to enter me with his fingers like he did before, but I’m wrong, oh so wrong.
His fingers tangle with mine briefly before he scoops some of my wetness up and drags it back up to the untouched pucker of my ass.
“Lawson...what? Oh my God,” I cry as he begins to circle my most private place with his thumb.
“Has anyone ever done this?” he grunts, still circling his thumb, getting closer and closer with each swipe.
“No,” I gasp when he makes brief contact and flutters his thumb there before resuming the circular motion.
He groans at my response and reaction, his own words coming out guttural. “Fuck yeah, that makes me so fuckin’ hard.” As if to prove his point, he pulls his hips back and thrusts again, his cock a hot brand of steel inside me.
Sin and Cider Page 17