way he could ever fit inside me or make this work. I shift, opening my legs to test the fit, and he groans, positioning himself against me.
He waits as if to ensure I won’t resist. That I’m breathing just as heavily as he is with eyes just as unfocused. Right when the anticipation becomes unbearable, he pushes in. It hurts for only a second before my muscles expand around him. Grip him.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates out, his mouth at my throat. Hungrily, his teeth nip at my flesh as he draws back and thrusts in again. “Spread your legs for me. Like this—” He palms my thigh, lifting my knee to his hip and rocks into me slowly, urging me to follow. I do so tentatively, marveling at the sensation. In so many ways, it’s like the club all over again.
I do what I can to match his movements until we’re writhing in sync. It’s almost too easy, natural—as if he’s in my head, knowing how I’ll react before I do. How I’ll arch. Writhe. Moan.
As though he knows me down to the bone.
The end comes quicker this time. Pleasure unfurls with the force of a kick to the stomach as he groans, stilling against me.
I go limp in the aftermath, catching my breath. He’s still kissing at my neck, almost leisurely, and I recall the words he said to me on the roof. I bet you taste sweet. A groan betrays his thoughts on the result. Gradually, he lets his teeth rake a sliver of flesh—but I have enough sense to stop him. He’ll leave a mark.
“D-Don’t.”
“No damaging the merchandise, huh?” he murmurs against my shoulder. “Can’t let him see?” He pushes back from me, using the wall for support.
The water cuts off, dampening the heat of the moment, and I can’t escape the sense that more than just the water is circling the drain. The mood has shifted, cooling the heat between us as we step out from the stall.
“Wait here.” Naked and dripping wet, he lumbers down the hall into what I can tell is a bedroom and returns with a handful of fabric. He uses the towel to dry me off with an almost studious intensity. Afterward, he helps me slide an oversized gray T-shirt over my head and slips into a pair of sweatpants himself.
He inclines his head to have me follow down the hall, deliberately closing the door to what I assume is his room as we pass it. I guess he wasn’t lying about his rule. Am I insulted? How many times have Bonnie or those other “desperate skanks” Mara mentioned been here in this spot?
I can imagine them following some unspoken cue. Once the fun was over, they left. “I should go—”
“You can’t stay?” His expression is carefully stoic, but his voice is gruffer than it should be if he were gearing up to kick me out. Questioning. “Is he waiting for you—”
“N-No. I mean… I can stay.” I bite my lower lip just so that the brief pain can distract from any panic. Stay. There are so many logical reasons to refuse. Branden might be waiting for me at my apartment, and this little voice at the back of my mind warns me to do everything I can to run and forget what just happened.
He should be taunting me to do just that. But for whatever reason, he isn’t, and curiosity overrides the unease.
“Come here.” He sinks onto the leather couch and pats the space beside him, leaving the decision up to me. Cautiously, I sit just out of his reach. I’m convinced the slight distance makes me safer, but he demolishes my peace of mind once again and reaches out to drag me closer.
Coconut and warmth encase me in a heavy and surprisingly comfortable shell. I don’t resist when he lies back with me at his side. I don’t think I’ve ever shared an intimate embrace like this with anyone who isn’t related to me by blood.
I can only stare up at the ceiling at first before eventually trailing my gaze down to the rest of the room, and then finally to the chest beneath my chin rising with his every breath.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” I hear myself admit. My cheeks sear with the million different implications of what that statement really means, but it’s oddly relieving when he laughs.
“You mean do whatever the fuck you want, bunny? You’re a natural.” The hand that holds me