murmurs, reaching across the table until his fingers slide through my hair. He probes the small cut along my scalp that’s being held together by two stitches. I can’t feel the pain; Tongue’s presence numbs me with arousal.
“Better.”
“Good. You’ve been asleep for three days. I’ve been getting worried about you.”
“Three?” I yelp, shocked. I don’t remember it being three days. It was yesterday that I hit the wall… I thought.
His finger slides from the side of my head, dragging his calloused fingers down my cheek. His wide palm wraps around my throat. “You sure you’re better?” his voice deepens, taking on a supernatural tremble that makes him sound demonic.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t say another word. He pulls me across the table by my neck. The chair slides back and hits the stove, and his mouth crashes down on mine, bruising my mouth in painful kiss. I taste blood and Tongue must too, because he shoves his tongue in my mouth and licks the metallic taste clean. His growls fill my belly, making me whimper into his mouth.
Half my body is across the table while my feet dangle off the other side, the tips of my toes scratching across the floor.
Breaking the kiss, he keeps me locked in his hold, and he flicks his tongue out to gather the smear of blood across his lip. “I’m going to fuck you whether you feel better or not, because I need to feel you.”
“I want that. I need that too.”
A normal person would let me get off the coffee table by way of placing my feet on the floor, and then I’d walk around the table.
But Tongue isn’t normal.
And I don’t want my feet on the ground.
He drags me the rest of the way across the tabletop with a burst of strength I wasn’t ready for, but welcome. It doesn’t stop there. Tongue doesn’t let me stand; he continues to pull me to our room. My knees slide across the hardwood floor and when he opens the door and that is when he picks me up. The bedroom is as clean as it will ever be with all the books littered across the floor.
He slams it shut behind us and clicks the lock. He carries me to the bed and lays me down, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths. His cock is tenting his jeans and he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be rough with you. I know you need time.”
I sit up quickly and grab his cock, squeezing hard until I know it hurts.
Just how he likes it.
His biceps shake as he growls, still holding himself back from doing what he really wants.
“You better be as rough as we like, Tongue, or I’ll have to tie you down and fuck you how I want,” I threaten, knowing he hates the idea of losing control in the bedroom unless he willingly gives it up.
The words are enough to break him out of the ridiculous notion that he needs to be easy on me. He shoves me back and curls his fingers in the waistband of my pajama shorts and yanks them down along with my panties. He doesn’t take my shirt off, he doesn’t lean down and kiss me.
He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, fishing out his fat cock. He pulls his jeans down the curve of his sculpted hips and gives the beast three strokes before he spreads my legs and comes. Tongue isn’t a quick trigger, so when I feel the warm splashes of his seed coating my pussy, I moan, shocked and turned on by feeling it drip down my sensitive seam. He grunts, watching himself come all over my fold.
My legs tremble from being held open.
“I won’t apologize for needing you.”
Needing me. Not wanting me.
Because he always wants me and that is never in question.
“You look so fucking good covered in my come,” he says, pressing his thumb against my clit and using his come as hot lubricant.
A bead of his white cream gathers at the tip of his cock. It’s about to drip onto the bed, and the only thing I can think about is how it’s about to go to waste. I try to sit up to wrap my mouth around him, but he doesn’t allow me to move. His hand is pressed against the middle of my chest and his other hand slices through the air before landing on my aching fire.
My clit breaks, shattering in a fireworks kaleidoscope reminding how fragile