Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,224

our hands, this sphere of ache and pain, and then we threw the sphere aside as clothes flew in all directions. My shirt, my bra, at the work of his deft fingers. His shirt as I fumbled clumsily.

My fingertips ran along the cuts of muscle hidden beneath that shirt—cuts of muscle I’d ogled in pictures online for ten years. The tattooed body I’d seen in magazines was real, and it was mine for tonight. My fingertips gave pause over a tattoo I’d never seen before. It stood out from the others. It must’ve been newer. It was a small scripted letter F enclosed in a circle.

I was about to ask him the meaning, but then more clothes started coming off. He kicked his shoes off and pushed mine off, too. He lifted my ass so I was kneeling on either side of him on his chair, and then he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. My jeans were eye-level for him, and he popped the button and lowered the zipper. My damp black panties peeked out the top, and he ran a finger along the band.

I shivered, and his hands trailed up to my breasts. He massaged and kneaded, pinched and rolled, and then he leaned forward and took one in his mouth while he worked the other with his fingertips.

I sat back on his lap and his hand trailed to the elastic band of my panties. He dipped a finger inside, difficult to do at this angle, and brushed against my clit. I nearly fell apart on top of him. He leaned back to give himself better access, and then he slipped a finger inside, his mouth still working my breast.

I dug my fingernails into his shoulders where my hands rested. He bit down on my nipple, sending a shot of need straight through me. That need only pressed harder upon me as he worked me with his hand. He pushed another finger in, and I threw my head back with a low moan. He grunted before he pulled his fingers away and let go of my breast.

“Stand up,” he commanded, and I did because you always do what Mark Ashton tells you to do.

He pulled my jeans and my panties down my legs. I stood in Mark’s bedroom completely naked, lit only by the gleaming glow of lights from below.

A carnal, guttural growl rose up from his chest, and then he shifted out of his jeans and his boxers. I panted at the sight of a naked Mark Ashton sitting in a chair in his bedroom. Need lit inside of me, a painful need so strong I thought I might die if I didn’t get to quench the thirst. He’d fingered me halfway to an orgasm, and just the naked sight of him was almost enough to push me there.

If I’d imagined his naked body a million times as I rubbed myself to pleasure, I’d have needed a million and one to get it right.

He pulled a condom from the back pocket of his jeans before tossing them on the floor. He tore the packet open and rolled it on before patting his thighs, indicating that I should get back on. I wanted to taste him first, to fist him in my palm, to stroke him and make him fall apart just from my touch, but I wanted him inside of me so much more.

I crawled on top of him, settling my legs into the space between his legs and the arms of the chair, and he guided himself into me.

My body was ready for him, warmed up from his fingers and his kiss and his biting teeth and just him.

He stretched me, so big I could hardly take him all the way in. His hands came under my ass, and he lifted me up.

“Jesus, that’s good,” he muttered on a grunt.

He let me fall back down over him, and this time I took him almost all the way in before he lifted my ass again. We both grunted at the feel of his body claiming mine, and then he let me fall over him again. Up and down, up and down, until he let me fall down and he pushed himself in completely.

We were connected, and while this was just one night, we were connected in far more ways than just body to body. His eyes found mine as we settled into stillness, and a quiet and intimate beat passed between us. This wasn’t just sex