Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,66

wanted them. That’s where they should stay.

“You know how hot it makes me when you defy me?” he demanded.

“No.” I answered him honestly as he ran his hands over my jeans-clad ass, leaning back to check me out.

“Oh, baby. It makes me so hot. It makes me want to do all sorts of bad things with you.”

I pressed my ass back into his crotch and rubbed it back and forth over the hot bulge in his jeans.

“You’re trying to distract me,” I said softly, and his hand came down on my ass with a sharp crack. I yelped and pushed back further into him.

“Is it working?” he asked as I rubbed myself against him with a sensual twist of my hips.

“Maybe,” I said, breathy, not wanting to give him an inch, but he knew he had me taking that liquid slide into arousal. Into that place I went where it didn’t matter what he pulled, what he did to me, as long as he kept the orgasms coming.

Never had I been with anyone where the sex was so dirty, but it made my soul feel so clean, but that was exactly as it was with Maverick.

I couldn’t exactly explain how that worked. All I knew was that I couldn’t get enough of the sensation and I wanted him inside of me so fucking bad right now.

I wanted him to drive into me so hard my hip bones cracked against the counter. I wanted bruises of his fingerprints in my hips as a lasting reminder of our passion and I couldn’t tell you if it was right or wrong, couldn’t tell you if it was healthy or not, all I could say was that I wanted it. I wanted it badly and it was probably a lot healthier to engage in rough and passionate sex that I wanted rather than to burn my whole fucking world down around me and to push the only person who was trying to help me away.

Of course, I’d started down that road back at the club, but Maverick had called me on my shit. Course corrected us here, where he was sliding my pants and chaps over my ass. Where he was kneeling on the floor behind me, where he was simultaneously pressing me against the counter – trapping me like a butterfly in a killing jar even as he ripped my panties away and thrust his tongue inside me.

God, yes; that felt good. I swear by all things that are holy that my soul left my fucking body with the first orgasm he dragged out of me at a record pace.

He left me sprawled over the countertop, chest heaving, his hand sliding up my back as he hummed satisfied.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Beautiful and mine.” He smacked his lips and smacked my ass, causing me to jump and writhe but I couldn’t stand up. He had his hand tangled in the back of my hair, now; his arm braced against my back, flattening me to the countertop as he thrust two fingers inside me, pressing on that spot, jerking his arm in that way that sent me from zero to sixty and had me writhing against his hold but unable to stop what was coming.

I don’t know why I resisted, other than resisting was fun and this was a game I actually wanted to lose, but I tried like hell to push up, to squirm out of his grasp, but it wasn’t happening. That feeling of being full, of impending release, that vague sensation of oh, shit! I’m going to piss myself, built and I bit my bottom lip, my cries ragged and uneven as I rose onto my toes and finally with a gush and wet splatter down my legs, I came.

Holy shit, that was intense. Like nothing I had ever felt before – and God, did I want more.

I lay limp and gasping against the countertop, unable to move, basking in the erotic glow, legs too weak, shaking like a newborn foal as Maverick braced me with a light touch at my back as he worked his pants open to fuck me.

He pressed against my opening and groaned as he sank inside of me, filling me up and out, pressing against my walls that still tingled faintly from the intensity with which he’d made me come.

I was a happy girl, melting across the countertop as he slid in and out of me at a lazy, almost sedate pace, taking his time, enjoying my