I let go completely and fuck her like I’ve never fucked a woman before. Harder than I have before. Faster than I have before. With more frustration and purpose fueling me than I ever have before.
Rose’s body absorbs my blows, each drive dislodging another scream from her hoarse throat. Her hands feel around the wall for something to hold on to, her head jerking limply on her shoulders. Every time I enter her, I feel like I’m going deeper and deeper, and each time I withdraw, I feel like I could lose my mind with the desperation to get back in there. All this just makes my hips piston faster.
I’ve lost control. Blood is pounding in my ears, my hearing a whoosh of nothing, my shouts, her screams, just a distant, muffled sound. I’m out of my body, but so very much in it.
She comes before me. I feel it in the solidifying of her body, hear it in the change of pitch in her screams, and then the extended moan and the limpness of her body. Not that I need it, but it’s the invitation I want to another world.
I breathe in deep and close my eyes, letting the pleasure take over and spark, igniting the start of my release. It builds slowly at first, but when it hits my balls, it erupts, surging forward at a rate I’m not equipped to cope with. I gasp, my body folding over her back, my knees wobbling with the intensity. I’m held on the cusp for just a few painful seconds as I draw out one last time, and then sink in slowly as my cock explodes and has one hand reaching for the wall to hold me up. I snake my other around her stomach, seeing she’s struggling to remain on her feet too. My roar is suppressed. My body out of control.
I shake and tremble, staring down at her back as I fight my way through. It seems to drag out forever, the pulses of my dick going on and on. Rose is breathing heavily beneath me, creating a wave with my body as it follows the rolls of hers.
Release. Somehow, we both achieved a release, but it wasn’t enough. An angry, hate-filled fuck should have satisfied me. Sated me. And yet, I’m just empty.
Tasted heaven, but feel like hell.
I pull out on a quiet hiss and head for my bathroom, flipping on the shower. I should feel better. Relieved. I don’t. I just feel like an arsehole. My back meets the tile, and I stare into the steam, mentally beating myself up. But she asked for it. Made it that way. I flex my jaw, feeling the ache from her perfect punch. And I look down at my arm, ripping the bandage off. The cuts are weeping. Motherfucker.
I wash myself down, realigning my thoughts to more important things. Like who just tried to blow me up. I brush my teeth, pull on the jeans that are hanging on the back of the chair in the corner of my bathroom, and make my way into the bedroom.
She’s gone.
Good.
* * *
After finding a bandage in the kitchen and doing a piss-poor job of redressing the wounds on my arm, I head for my office. I ignore Brad’s curious look when I enter. “The ice has melted,” he says, placing the tumbler in my hand as I pass. I ignore his subtle observation of the time it’s taken me to get down here, slumping down in my chair. I also ignore the fact that it hasn’t escaped his notice that I have a tidy blemish on my cheek. But he doesn’t mention it. “Didn’t you have time to get dressed?”
I look at my chest that is missing one T-shirt. “Fuck off, Brad. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You tell me, Danny. Your arm is shredded, your nose looks broken, and to top it off, some fucker just tried to blow you up.”
“My arm and my nose aren’t your concern. Let me worry about that.” I glare at him across the desk. “They’re getting closer.” I neck my drink and immediately hold up my empty glass. Ringo grabs the bottle of Scotch and refills it while Brad settles in a chair opposite and the rest of my men move in. “How the fuck did they get a bomb in my jet ski?”
“Monroe’s been on watch down there for the past two days.” Brad sighs, rubbing at his head, which is undoubtedly aching. “I’ve