Chapter 6

6

L IZ

I'm right there between awareness and drowsiness, not dreaming, but not awake yet, with no understanding of where I am.

All I know is that I feel good. And then something tickles me.

Something pulls away from me, but I'm too invested in slumbering a little more that I don't make the slightest effort to jolt out of sleep.

My jacket pulls away from me.

What I didn't want to do before––open my eyes and check my surroundings without stressing myself out––comes to me now with a spike of panic.

My instinct kicks in, and I jerk upright, screaming when a hand smelling like cologne moves over my mouth and a strong arm holds me in place.

"Shh…" he says in my ear, and the room starts spinning with me.

"It's me," he says before his lips replace his calloused fingers, keeping me hostage a little longer.

His kiss has the effect of hard liquor when you're already drunk.

It pulls me under fast, with force, awakening my senses before waking me.

Guided by the need ignited in my body, I respond to him, winding my arms around his neck, kissing him back, and continuing what we haven't even started.

Words have no place in this story as he runs his hand up the back of my neck, threads his fingers through my hair, and holds my head, kissing me forcefully.

His other hand slides up between my thighs and meets my lacy thong.

"My hand is a little cold," he says, breaking the kiss for only a second before taking my mouth again.

I have zero complaints about his hand being cold.

He tugs the band of lace to the side and rubs the soft flesh underneath, waves of pleasure crashing through me like tides against a shore.

Warmth explodes under my skin, and my center drips with wet arousal, moans climbing up my chest.

Who knew my transition from sleep to awareness would be so dramatic and delightful at the same time.

The pleasure is sublime as these are the moments when I fully trust him for no logical reason I can muster.

These moments bring us close, tying us to each other, and it's hard to question their truthfulness and authenticity.

My jacket fell off my body moments ago, and now my panties move down under his eager touch.

He runs the heel of his hand over my smooth folds and rubs my clit until I push my knees up and spread my legs.

"Can you come to me?" I ask, arching my back before kissing his neck in a trance.

He pushes up and peels off his suit jacket, tie, and expensive shirt before unbuckling his belt and shedding his shoes, socks, and pants.

Naked and with a rock hard erection jutting into the air, he nudges me to turn around.

On all fours, I look at him over my shoulder, my hair sliding over my face, getting in the way.

"I'll make it worthwhile," he says, looking down at my entrance.

I have no idea what he means by that.

It sounds like he's thinking about completing a transaction, and our discussion about money comes to mind.

I have no time to ponder that idea since he wraps my hair around his fist and runs his free hand down between my butt cheeks.

Pleasure spikes through me, making my hips jerk.

He grabs me from behind, and my flesh throbs under his touch.

"Easy, baby…" he says, and I watch him over my shoulder as he tips his blue gaze down and looks at my rear with a lustful smile on his face.

Slowly, he drags his finger over my entrance and probes it with ease. Wet arousal drips around his touch.

The warm wetness comes with tension in my lower abdomen and addictive throbbing in my center.

"Have you thought about my proposal?" he asks, slowly pushing his middle finger in.

I lose my breath.

My head falls down as I push back a crying moan and tense around his finger, clenching fast.

"You have an interesting way of negotiating this," I say, and a soft chuckle floats in the room.

"I'm not even negotiating," he says, moving his finger in and out slowly.

He pushes it deep until I arch in pleasure again.

"Have you?" he asks.

"I can't think about it now. I need more time."

"Time…" he says and continues doing what he's been doing, taking his time.

I'll come within moments if he keeps doing that.

"You have to talk to me a little more…" I say, my thought emerging from a fuzzy brain.

Talking about sex for money arouses me even more.

"We'll talk," he says, distracted.

His finger is soaked from my wetness when he pulls my hair back, removes his touch, and pushes his erection in.

"Oh… Fuck me…" I murmur, and he laughs quietly.

"That will happen. More than you expect it," he says, rocking his hips, his hard flesh sliding back and forth.

His fingers dig into my waist while he pounds me hard. Not fast, only hard.

I'm embarrassingly wet, my center clenching, the sweet high precluded by a state of oblivion.

"Move with me…" he says.

I'm usually more attentive to these things, but having him inside me has made me fail in every way.

I feel so good while he drives his hard length into me, pushing me to the edge.

One more thrust, and I'll probably fall over.

"It's not like me…" I mumble, and he slowly drags his nails down my spine, a swarm of goosebumps forming in his wake.

I move my hips to meet his thrusts.

"You'll get the hang of it," he says.

I chuckle, and he lowers his hand and grabs my boobs.

"You're funny," I say.

"So I've heard," he tosses back at me, a smile lining his voice.

"I doubt it," I comment, remembering how aloof he seems at times.

He says nothing for a moment, focused only on pushing his flesh inside me.

I glance at him over my shoulder and find him laser-focused on plunging his hard meat into my body.

No smile sits on his face, and nothing tells me he's aware of me watching him.

A beautiful man, through and through, even when oblivious to my stare.

He lets go of my hair and I sweep it over my shoulder so it doesn't slide over my face before he brings his thumb to my back entrance.

"Do you like anal?" he asks, and I turn rigid.

He flicks his eyes to me.

"Chill. I was only asking you."

"Anal with another man? Or with you and your thumb?" I ask, no innuendo in my voice.

He searches my eyes.

"Would you like a second man?"

Our conversation navigates unchartered territories.

"I never thought about that. I only mentioned it because you asked me. I don't have much experience with it either way. I've heard there's lube."

He smiles.

"Yes. There's lube."

"Have you done it?" I ask, my curiosity ignited.

"What?" he says, looking down again, a lopsided smile on his face.

"Sharing a woman with another man."

"No."

"Would you like to start with me?"

Our eyes connect.

"Probably not. I could use a butt plug or a dildo, if you don't mind… And lube, of course."

I tear my eyes away from him with difficulty.

Here I am.

Taking it from behind while discussing anal options with my family friend.

He is my family friend, isn't he?

Thea is family. Now Edward is family. His friends are our family friends.

Weird fucking story. Not that good to put in a book.

"I'd love to do a lot of things with you, David," I say softly, and he no longer moves, his hard length buried deep inside my body.

The silence prolongs despite his flesh twitching and my center clenching, so I swing my eyes back to him.

"Things that officially never happen," he says, his eyes moving from mine to my lips.

"Yes, things that officially never happen."

He ponders for a second.

"All right. We'll have to be careful, though. James is already suspicious of us and has started to ask questions. I don't have a problem telling him…"

He rocks his hips and stares down.

"You're not truthful with me now," I say.

A smile parts his lips.

"No, I'm not. I want to keep it a secret as much as you do. I think it's best for us to do that…" he says and pauses.

I like how he says us.

It also feels like there's a bit of a backstory to that statement. Like he's thinking about us in some form.

"But he is curious…" he continues. "And James is hard to fool."

"Do you think he'd say something to other people about us?"

"No. I don't think so. It's not his style. But if he can pick up on it, other people might pick up on it too."

I break my stare away from him and tilt my head down.

"There's no need to be despondent. If they find out, it's their problem," he says.

"That's not the point of all this," I argue.

"I know," he says and pulls out of me.

I shift my focus back to him.

His erection is heavy and veiny and glistens from my wetness.

"Don't worry about it," he says, nudging me to turn over.

My back meets the pillow while he slides his knees between my legs and brings his mouth to my wet opening.

"You're safe with me…" he says before sliding his tongue into my swollen center.

"That's what every man says before eating her out."

A guttural laugh travels up his throat, reverberating against my center.

I can't get enough of having his mouth connected to my sensitive sex.

Propped on my elbow, I run my fingers through his hair.

"It doesn't matter…" I say in a stream of consciousness, no rational thought behind my statement.

"I will deny everything," I go on.

He laughs again.

"Good girl. We'll make it work somehow."

And that is all we have to say before my grip slackens on his hair and he begins licking my clit.

Teasing it with his tongue, he makes my core clench before shoving two fingers into me.

It takes him about five seconds to enhance the tension in my body and send shudders through my frame.

I come, clenching my thighs, pressing them into his neck, throbbing frantically against his touch, and calling his name like he's my man.

The fucking is good. I've never experienced this level of comfort before. I never thought I could become so comfortable with someone in bed.

Of all people, him? Him??

There are things I refuse to think about.

His connection to my circle. And Rain, in particular. His history with women. The fact that this is temporary, and it has no future.

But even with all these negatives, he has a way of making me feel safe as if all these things have no power over us. Can't touch us. Let alone destroy us.

It's fleeting, but it's good.

Maybe his experience talks and that's what makes our dynamic so smooth.

I can't tell where his experience ends and where the real David Moore begins. I wish I had a man like him before.

Perhaps I'll meet someone like him after we're done with each other.

For now, I enjoy my intense orgasm, holding onto the memory of him.

He doesn't stop stroking my clit with his tongue and lips and sucking on it, not even when I scale down.

He only treats me with gentleness when my flesh becomes sensitive and longing, and then he smoothly helps me to transition from a beautiful, brutal ending to wanting him again.

When my eyelids get heavy again, and slide to half mast, and my breaths are ragged and shallow, he grabs his hard–on and leisurely grounds himself in my deepest depths while I cling onto him, my arms lopped around his muscular neck.

We're no longer connected in that beautiful, friendly, playful way.

His breaths fan over my temple, and the ceiling is my view while he moves on top of me. And this part of our story is his, and his alone.

The pleasure still snakes through my body, wrapping around me, making me sweat under him, but my frame is entirely his as he grips me harshly and pumps me harder than he's done it before.

There is pleasure in the act, even without the emotional connection.

There is satisfaction in feeling him so worked up, so hungry to possess me.

There is power in disconnecting while sharing our dirty little secret.

There is freedom and no pressure.

I like how he fucks me. It's purely a primal thing.

Once the expectations have been removed, there is not much left besides the need to break me physically.

To make me take it.

And I do.

I indulge in every thrust, groan, and merciless grip.

I revel in how he picks up the pace, has no limits, and no restrains. How he fucks me with recklessness for his own pleasure.

He's done that before, and it's his signature thing.

And even so, it's more than the blank emotional canvas I have experienced with other men before.

There's honesty in his desire, and I appreciate that.

Ironically, the thought that this lustful rage against me doesn't come with a lyrical, poetic love story puts me in the mood again.

My nails dig into his back, and there is something so intimate in doing that.

I may fool myself into believing this is as cut and dry as I see it. Sex for pleasure. And the pleasure of having sex.

Maybe later, I'll find out that this highly aroused man rocking his hips against me has done something way more dangerous than our filthy deal.

He had tied me to him in ways I never thought possible.

But for now, this is it.

I won't fret over something I don't know.

I cling to him with all my strength, and he buries his lips in my hair, his breaths fanning over my scalp.

There's brutal honesty in this, and I love it more than anything so far.

"I'm close," I say.

"Me too," he grunts, and we both come.