Getting Dirty - Page 7

Her eyes glisten as they waver over my face and then she backs away from me, shaking her head as my body reels from her admission.

‘I can see I was wrong. You’re not my type after all...’

She starts to walk, trying to pull free, but I yank her back to me. I’m not even thinking. It’s impulsive—a need to take it all away, just as she hoped I would. Because I can’t face her pain a second longer. I can’t deal with the sickening guilt that comes with it either.

I claim her mouth and force all the guilt out, hanging on to her startled whimper, the swift surrender of her pliable mouth and the heat of her hands as they thrust inside my shirt. She rakes her nails over my chest and I feel a heady sting as she pierces the skin, wild, hungry, desperate. Heat surges through my body. My cock is more than willing to be the distraction she demands.

And what about you? Do you really want to go there with her? She’s your fucking target, for Christ’s sake!

But she’s a target who doesn’t deserve to be. This little exchange off the back of all that I’ve already witnessed is enough to prove that.

But if she’s not like Jess—a woman I despise—doesn’t it actually make her all the more dangerous? All the more to be avoided?

She bites down on my lower lip and tugs. Pleasure-pain drowns out the inner voice of reason as her fingers move to my belt. Fuck, she’s undoing it.

‘We shouldn’t...’ I manage against her lips.

‘We should.’ She nods, her breath coming in short pants. ‘Now.’

I can sense eyes upon us. Does she know we’re being watched?

Of course she does—you’re in Blacks.

But in that moment I feel like I’m the only person in her world. The way she’s looking at me, drowning in me, makes power surge through my veins, and I can’t stop my hands from sliding higher, my thumbs caressing the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She feels so perfect; her eyes, her breath, the arch of her body are all so responsive to me.

You don’t deserve what she’s giving you...

She parts my belt, unfastens my button, my zipper. My cock strains ready and then she slips her hand inside my briefs, her warm fingers taking hold. I freeze. I can’t breathe, can’t move. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut just for a second, just enough to regain some control, and when I open them again, she’s grinning up at me, her eyes alive with mischief. So much better than the pain seconds before...

She pumps me once and my balls contract—shit.

‘And there I was, believing I’m not your type...’

She moves over me now, her eyes dropping to take in the sight of her hand gripping me. Masterfully working me. My thighs tremble... My groan is strangled in my throat.

I’m fucked.

She sweeps her thumb over the tip of my cock, sweeping up the pre-cum as more appears. I breathe, ragged, losing it. She runs one scarlet-red nail over my slit.

‘Fuck.’

She looks at me from beneath her lashes. I’m so ready to be inside her, so scared I’ll shoot my load before I even get there...

‘Mmm... I wonder if you taste as good as you look, Ash.’

Oh, Christ, no.

I shake my head, the move negligible with my body pulled so taut, my fingers tight upon her thighs.

‘How about I find out?’

She slips forward, forcing me back a step to give her the space to drop to her knees, and I stare at the wall ahead of me, my brain screaming at me to stop her as my cock eggs her on, bucking in her grasp.

She gives a pleased little laugh—and then I feel it, the delicate point of her tongue, sweeping over the sensitised head and my eyes drop. I’m lost to her and all she can do.

Her lashes lift, her eye

s lock onto mine and she grips the base of my cock, steadying my length to trace a teasing path around her mouth with my very tip. Like I’m her fucking lipstick.

Tags: Rachael Stewart Romance
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