Fighting Attraction
Page 38
“Beautiful face,” he murmurs.
I press myself closer, grip his massive shoulders. His hand drifts down to my waist, slips beneath the hem of my T-shirt. His warm touch on my bare skin sends my pulse skyrocketing, and I moan.
He lowers me to the cushions, follows me down, never breaking the kiss. His body is deliciously hot and hard above me. I feel connected to him, protected, like we are one person, not two.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he breathes. “So sweet.” He presses a kiss to my neck as his hands move over my body. I wrap my arms around his neck, pull him down for more. I want his full weight on top of me. I want to feel crushed, smothered, enveloped in hot, musky male.
Jack groans. His hips press into my stomach, his erection a delicious friction between my thighs. I part my legs wider, grind against him, seeking the delicious sensation of rough denim on my throbbing clit.
“Shh. Slow down. I want to enjoy you.” He trails kisses down my neck, over my throat. Shifting to the side, he cups and squeezes my breasts through my bra, his touch solid and strong. I writhe and wriggle, unable to stay still. He is driving me crazy with his touches, making me so wet it’s all I can do not to rip off his clothes and make him give me what I want.
His eyes darken, and he shoves my shirt up over my head, baring me to his heated gaze. “Ah, Pen.”
My hands find his back and smooth over his muscles, feeling them ripple beneath his shirt as he slides one bra strap over my shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his gaze intense as his head dips down to press a soft kiss to my bare skin.
He slides the other strap off, slowly, gently, carefully unwrapping me as if he is teasing himself. I arch my back, offer my breasts for the pleasure of his mouth. Beyond rational thought, I am lost in sensation, a seething, yearning mass of want.
Jack traces his finger along the edge of my bra, leaving a burning trail across my skin. With painful slowness, he eases the cups down, releasing my breasts from their restraint. I gasp when my burning skin comes into contact with the cool air, and my nipples bead so hard they ache.
I want his mouth on me, his lips, and his heat. But he doesn’t oblige. Instead, he traces a finger around my nipple. Around and around until I tangle my hands in his soft hair and pull him down to my breast. “Please.”
“You’re making it very difficult to go slow.” He feathers hot kisses across the curve of one breast, moving down to draw my left nipple between his teeth. I moan as he licks and sucks, nips and bites, while his other hand squeezes and caresses my right breast. My thighs fall open, inviting, and he lowers his hand to my leg and traces his finger slowly along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
I have never known lust like this, want so fierce I burn, and need so intense I ache. He is a master of manipulation, a purveyor of pleasure. He knows just where to touch and how hard. He knows how to drive me up and take me down, when I can’t take any more and when it isn’t enough. I try not to think about where he gained all that knowledge, the countless women he’s been with, the things he has done to them in his room at the club. I pretend I am the only one he has caressed into a haze of lust, the only one he wants.
I open my eyes to see him watching me, assessing my reaction to his touch. I feel at once stripped bare and treasured by the intensity of his focus. He moves to my other breast, pulling down my bra cup, teasing and torturing my nipple with his mouth. He trails his fingers up my thigh and then cups the curve of my sex, over my shorts. I let out a guttural moan and in seconds he’s on top of me, as if I’ve broken his self-control. He kisses me hard, rough, grinds his hips against me as he presses me into the couch. I reach for him, and he grabs my wrists with one hand and pins them over my head. He pushes my shorts and knickers aside and strokes a thick finger along my labia while he sucks and bites my nipple until I am writhing and groaning beneath him.
“Please,” I moan. “Please. Please. Please.”
“Tell me what you want.” He buries his face in my neck, bites down on the sensitive skin at the top of my shoulder.
“Sex. I want to have sex. I want you inside me. Now. Take off my clothes.”
His hand tightens on my wrists so hard it hurts. “I don’t have normal sex,” he growls. “If I take off your clothes, I’m going to hurt you. I need your pain, darlin’. It gives me pleasure.”
My heart skips a beat. “You want to spank me?”
He twists my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making me gasp. “I want to do more than spank you. I want to tease you until you need to come so bad it hurts. I want to hear you scream and cry. I want your tears. I want to hurt you so bad you never feel the need to hurt yourself. And I want to give you so much pleasure you can’t form a coherent thought.”
My brain fuzzes with both fear and desire. “You can’t do it like this?”
Jack’s phone vibrates on the coffee table, and he hisses in a breath.
“I need you,” I whisper, rubbing my body against him. But the incessant vibrating of the phone has broken the spell. He pushes himself up and grabs the phone.
“Jack here,” he says, holding the phone to his ear. He walks toward the bedroom, and I sink into the couch.
He wants to hurt me. Not just in the club but here. Am I just going back down the road I was on before? Opening myself up to being abused again? How do I draw the line when I couldn’t draw it before? I thought Adam was my savior, and he turned out to be as bad as my dad. And yet I feel a connection with Jack that I’ve never felt with anyone before. We both find pleasure through pain; we both have suffered betrayal and loss. The only risk is if I fall so deep I can’t find my way out.
Jack returns a few minutes later and sits on the edge of the couch. He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. By the time he speaks, I already know what he’s going to say.
“I can’t do this.”
Hope shatters inside me. My dad was right. Adam was right. No wonder they didn’t want me. I am worthless. No good. Damaged. So damaged I can’t even give a sadist my pain.
I press myself closer, grip his massive shoulders. His hand drifts down to my waist, slips beneath the hem of my T-shirt. His warm touch on my bare skin sends my pulse skyrocketing, and I moan.
He lowers me to the cushions, follows me down, never breaking the kiss. His body is deliciously hot and hard above me. I feel connected to him, protected, like we are one person, not two.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he breathes. “So sweet.” He presses a kiss to my neck as his hands move over my body. I wrap my arms around his neck, pull him down for more. I want his full weight on top of me. I want to feel crushed, smothered, enveloped in hot, musky male.
Jack groans. His hips press into my stomach, his erection a delicious friction between my thighs. I part my legs wider, grind against him, seeking the delicious sensation of rough denim on my throbbing clit.
“Shh. Slow down. I want to enjoy you.” He trails kisses down my neck, over my throat. Shifting to the side, he cups and squeezes my breasts through my bra, his touch solid and strong. I writhe and wriggle, unable to stay still. He is driving me crazy with his touches, making me so wet it’s all I can do not to rip off his clothes and make him give me what I want.
His eyes darken, and he shoves my shirt up over my head, baring me to his heated gaze. “Ah, Pen.”
My hands find his back and smooth over his muscles, feeling them ripple beneath his shirt as he slides one bra strap over my shoulder. His breathing is heavy, his gaze intense as his head dips down to press a soft kiss to my bare skin.
He slides the other strap off, slowly, gently, carefully unwrapping me as if he is teasing himself. I arch my back, offer my breasts for the pleasure of his mouth. Beyond rational thought, I am lost in sensation, a seething, yearning mass of want.
Jack traces his finger along the edge of my bra, leaving a burning trail across my skin. With painful slowness, he eases the cups down, releasing my breasts from their restraint. I gasp when my burning skin comes into contact with the cool air, and my nipples bead so hard they ache.
I want his mouth on me, his lips, and his heat. But he doesn’t oblige. Instead, he traces a finger around my nipple. Around and around until I tangle my hands in his soft hair and pull him down to my breast. “Please.”
“You’re making it very difficult to go slow.” He feathers hot kisses across the curve of one breast, moving down to draw my left nipple between his teeth. I moan as he licks and sucks, nips and bites, while his other hand squeezes and caresses my right breast. My thighs fall open, inviting, and he lowers his hand to my leg and traces his finger slowly along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
I have never known lust like this, want so fierce I burn, and need so intense I ache. He is a master of manipulation, a purveyor of pleasure. He knows just where to touch and how hard. He knows how to drive me up and take me down, when I can’t take any more and when it isn’t enough. I try not to think about where he gained all that knowledge, the countless women he’s been with, the things he has done to them in his room at the club. I pretend I am the only one he has caressed into a haze of lust, the only one he wants.
I open my eyes to see him watching me, assessing my reaction to his touch. I feel at once stripped bare and treasured by the intensity of his focus. He moves to my other breast, pulling down my bra cup, teasing and torturing my nipple with his mouth. He trails his fingers up my thigh and then cups the curve of my sex, over my shorts. I let out a guttural moan and in seconds he’s on top of me, as if I’ve broken his self-control. He kisses me hard, rough, grinds his hips against me as he presses me into the couch. I reach for him, and he grabs my wrists with one hand and pins them over my head. He pushes my shorts and knickers aside and strokes a thick finger along my labia while he sucks and bites my nipple until I am writhing and groaning beneath him.
“Please,” I moan. “Please. Please. Please.”
“Tell me what you want.” He buries his face in my neck, bites down on the sensitive skin at the top of my shoulder.
“Sex. I want to have sex. I want you inside me. Now. Take off my clothes.”
His hand tightens on my wrists so hard it hurts. “I don’t have normal sex,” he growls. “If I take off your clothes, I’m going to hurt you. I need your pain, darlin’. It gives me pleasure.”
My heart skips a beat. “You want to spank me?”
He twists my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making me gasp. “I want to do more than spank you. I want to tease you until you need to come so bad it hurts. I want to hear you scream and cry. I want your tears. I want to hurt you so bad you never feel the need to hurt yourself. And I want to give you so much pleasure you can’t form a coherent thought.”
My brain fuzzes with both fear and desire. “You can’t do it like this?”
Jack’s phone vibrates on the coffee table, and he hisses in a breath.
“I need you,” I whisper, rubbing my body against him. But the incessant vibrating of the phone has broken the spell. He pushes himself up and grabs the phone.
“Jack here,” he says, holding the phone to his ear. He walks toward the bedroom, and I sink into the couch.
He wants to hurt me. Not just in the club but here. Am I just going back down the road I was on before? Opening myself up to being abused again? How do I draw the line when I couldn’t draw it before? I thought Adam was my savior, and he turned out to be as bad as my dad. And yet I feel a connection with Jack that I’ve never felt with anyone before. We both find pleasure through pain; we both have suffered betrayal and loss. The only risk is if I fall so deep I can’t find my way out.
Jack returns a few minutes later and sits on the edge of the couch. He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. By the time he speaks, I already know what he’s going to say.
“I can’t do this.”
Hope shatters inside me. My dad was right. Adam was right. No wonder they didn’t want me. I am worthless. No good. Damaged. So damaged I can’t even give a sadist my pain.
