Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,16

barrier of her panties. Light winked behind her eyes as a new, kinkier kind of desire burrowed itself under her skin, raising goose bumps as it went.

“More, Russell,” she cried out, shuddering as he drove against her faster. “Please.”

“Can’t have that pussy. Can’t have it. Stop trying to give it to me.” She felt his forehead press into the crook of her neck and turn, his mouth finding her ear. “This is my dream, isn’t it, angel? Always a fucking dream.” His hand worked between their bodies, his big fingers hooking into the top of her underwear and dragging it down, exposing her. “Maybe I’ll work myself into your tight ass tonight.”

Then he slapped her bottom. Hard.

“Russell,” Abby shouted, staggered by what she’d just heard. Felt. The unexpectedness of it, by the usually overprotective Russell making her flesh sting. Mostly her mind reeled over the fact that she still didn’t want him to stop. One of the primary reasons she’d been attracted to Russell’s personality was his irreverence. The way he treated her like she wouldn’t break under a little disapproval . . . and his palm snapping against her backside took those feelings and turned them up full blast.

Abby’s thoughts had distracted her from Russell’s sudden stillness, but she noticed it now. Noticed his panting breaths echoing in the dim bedroom. His hardness was still nestled in the valley of her bottom, but he didn’t move. With every ounce of her will, she silently begged him to continue but knew deep down, he wouldn’t. She’d shouted his name for that very reason. Or maybe her conscience had forced it out of her. The situation had gotten beyond her. She’d already let it go too far, and any further would be catastrophic. Maybe it already was.

“What the hell, Abby?”

Chapter 5

RUSSELL HAD BEEN having the best dream. When you’re hard up for a virgin, dreams were really all you had, so he dreamed a lot. Fantasized more than was probably healthy. In bed, in the shower, while operating heavy machinery. It was never anyone but Abby. Christ, the pathetic truth was, he couldn’t even get his cock up for anyone else. There had been opportunities in bars with flirtatious girls, chances for a possible hookup, and every time—every single time—he had walked away, gone home, and dreamed about making Abby come. With his hands and mouth, almost every time. Another sad detail of his fucked-up condition. His dreams were about making her come, all the while leaving her virginity intact. Fantasies that were more satisfying than some random one-nighter with a stranger.

Sometimes, though, he lost the ability to do right by Abby in his imagination. Once, after spending an entire day in her company, he hadn’t even made it home before pulling over his truck and beating off to a picture of her on his phone. He’d taken it that day, trying to capture her smile as she flopped back on the grass in Washington Square Park. But her dress had inched up at the last minute, and he’d gotten a flash of the pink-lace thong between her thighs, immortalizing the image on his phone. It had felt so wrong touching himself to the picture, but the wrong felt so good, and he’d kept going. And going. Until he’d been mentally on top of her in the grass, feeding inches into her, taking her roughly for everyone to see. So damn wrong. He’d made it three weeks before breaking down on fantasizing about going that far with her again.

This? This was no fantasy. He should have damn well known, too, because it blasted anything his imagination had ever conjured right out of the water. Lust had him by the throat, and maintaining his focus on not fucking Abby was all he could manage. At some point, he needed to remove his aching dick from between her perfect little ass cheeks and pull her goddamn skirt back down. How had this happened? How had it gotten this far?

Everything came back to him in a rush. Abby’s falling asleep, her hand eventually coming to rest on his belly, giving him wood for days. His reaching for the bottle of tequila, hoping it would alleviate his condition and take away the residual fear left over from today’s near disaster, but the liquor’s only succeeding in knocking him out. Then he’d woken up with Abby on her knees, him dry-humping her gorgeous, off-limits ass. No, there was more. More. More, Russell. Please. He hadn’t imagined