I Hate You - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,48
it.”
“Sometimes,” I murmur back in his ear, my hand brushing at the hair there.
His finger tilts my head up. “Me too.”
I didn’t know that.
“It’s hard for me to say how I feel sometimes,” he adds.
“Well, you seem to be doing great right now.”
“It’s the mask. I can pretend.”
Swallowing, I take in his angular face, the way his eyes glint—his lips. They’re pouty and full, like two fluffy pillows, and I can’t stop studying the way they curve.
“You feel like heaven,” he says on a little groan, and his hands are lower, splaying out across my ass.
“Same,” I reply breathlessly, melting into his body.
God, I’ve missed this. The feel of him under me, the way his hands know just how to hold me and make me feel safe…
We’re swaying, and I feel light.
The song ends, blending into a faster one, but neither of us lets go. Bodies gyrate and twirl nearby, bumping into us. We don’t waver an inch. He shields me, his muscular frame our protection as he wards off random people who veer too close. Nothing could get between us. His hips brush against me, friction sweet and sharp between my legs.
The bass from the speakers booms underneath my skin, as if it’s in tune with the rush of blood that’s coming from my heart. My fingers dig into his shoulders. I can get lost in this for a little—
“Mmmm,” he says, and his thigh moves and slips between my legs. I close my eyes and clutch his nape. “Take your mask off and tell me your name, little freshman,” he murmurs.
My head rises and our eyes lock.
“This is a masquerade—no.”
His tongue darts out and he licks that bottom lip, painstakingly slow. “Chicken.”
“Am not.” I take a breath, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this, but I say it anyway. “Everything else is yours.”
He pauses, his head down and close to mine. “Everything?” Wariness crosses his face, a ghost of pain flashing before disappearing.
I nod.
He slips his hand around to my ponytail and pulls until my hair spills out and flows down my back. His hand slips underneath and palms my scalp. He kisses the sensitive area below my ear, his tongue stroking the surface. “Is this mine?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He sucks on my skin, and I hold his head, pressing him closer. His thigh slips between my legs again, seesawing back and forth.
We’re not dancing anymore, and maybe we haven’t been for a while, but it’s dark and no one is noticing. A couple next to us kisses, their hands roaming over each other. A quick glance tells me everyone is either lost in their partner, the music, or the free alcohol.
“This?” His hand massages my ass then moves up my body, his palm following my curves. He presses me against his cock through his jeans.
“Yes,” I mumble, my senses are overloaded with his touch.
“This?” He brushes his thumb against my vest where my piercing is.
“Yes,” I hiss.
He leans down to place a kiss on my neck, his lips taking and taking, sucking, getting harder, probably leaving a mark. I lean into it, writhing, clenching around his leg.
My lips part, a tidal wave of sensation pooling, drenching my panties. Music and people surround us, and I can’t tell where I am anymore.
“I’m gonna make you forget you ever had a name,” he says, staring down at me.
“Try.”
He puts his hand between our bodies, cups me through my leggings, and then presses down with his heel on the top of my cleft.
My lashes flutter, and I can’t breathe, pulsing against him. My leg hitches around his thigh, rubbing like a cat.
More, more, my eyes say before I lean my head on his chest, wanting to hide, afraid he’ll see the power he has.
“Look at me.”
I raise my gaze.
His eyes are brilliant, bright and gleaming as he takes me in, molten with need. His expression is searching, as if he’s waiting for something, needing something from me.
“Is this mine?” His hand strokes down, rubbing my mound, but not enough—not nearly enough.
“Yes,” I moan.
“Thank fuck.” He slips his hand inside my leggings and past my panties, a lone finger inside me, dipping and exploring the folds, the already wet skin. My head falls back.
His cock strains out, bulging against his jeans as he applies that tortuous pressure with his palm, rotating against me then sliding back inside my panties, two fingers this time, taking the cream and massaging me. He circles me, playing, teasing. He tightens his arm around my waist when I