36. Adam

36

ADAM

T here’s a war being waged under my skin as I kiss her. My memories are always there, but I can usually keep them on a low simmer. Tonight, my conversation with Natalie has my emotions threatening to boil over, the thin lid of my sanity clattering from the force of the convection currents raging below.

So much conflict.

So much need.

I suspect this woman can slake it all… if she allows me to dominate her in the exacting, perfect way I require right now.

Whether she climbs over me to straddle my hips or I drag her here, I’m unclear. But her thighs are clamped down around mine, her stretchy black dress riding up enough that its slit reveals the lace trim of her stocking to my greedy fingers as my hand roams up her leg and around to grab her arse.

My other hand is in her glossy hair, clawing at great big fistfuls of it as I hold her head in place. The heady floral notes of her scent bewitch me, the breathy little moans deep in her throat the most entrancing encouragement to sustain the deep, probing strokes of my tongue inside her mouth.

I use the hand on her arse to tug her closer to where my dick is threatening to punch through my trousers, and she obeys like the little beauty she is, grinding down on me, rubbing that warm little pussy against my impossibly angry hardness, and all the while kissing me back, her lips, her tongue, just as demanding as mine.

Her hands are shaking with need, and they’re everywhere: in my hair, on my face, scratching at my beard and pulling at my curls and fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I adore this openly greedy side of her, but the chances of us getting all our clothes off before I’m inside her are nil.

The clothes can wait.

I can’t and, from the looks of things, neither can she.

I cup her breast hard with one hand while attempting with the other to ruck up the long, stretchy skirt of her dress so it’s around her waist. There are still too many layers of fabric between us, but I’m getting there. Once it’s out of the way, I allow myself a moment to enjoy the smooth perfection of her bare arse cheek, the velvet softness of that expanse of skin between the top of her stocking and her thong.

‘Rub yourself against me,’ I order her through our kisses. ‘Mmm. Tell me how it feels.’

She grinds down harder against me, and I thrust up to meet her. ‘It’s not enough,’ she says, the pout clear in her voice.

‘No. It’s not. You want my dick, don’t you?’ I hiss the words through my teeth as I slide my hand over her thigh to the useless, soaking scrap of fabric covering her cunt and rub my fingers against it. I’m not sure what feels better: the wet heat of her on my fingertips or the extra friction my hand is giving my poor cock.

She rolls her forehead against mine and pants out her reply. ‘Yes, so badly. I need it.’

‘Such a sweet little thing.’ I tug down my zip in brusque, excruciating increments. ‘And such a glutton for my cock. Exactly the way I want you.’

I thought I’d feel victorious at having her writhing and grinding and rubbing that sweet little pussy against me, at having her so desperate for my dick, but, given what’s transpired between us this evening, I don’t. If anything, I feel… grateful. Humbled. She’s letting me in, figuratively and, it seems, literally. If anything, it’s less a coup and more a miracle.

She too wedges a hand between us, slipping it inside my open flies and palming me through the jersey of my boxer briefs. I groan into her mouth before pulling back slightly.

‘Imagine how tight it’ll feel inside you,’ I tell her, pulling back enough to admire the glazed prettiness of her eyes.

‘I haven’t been able to think about much else today,’ she whispers, and I reward her honesty with a hard kiss.

‘That’s my good girl. Why don’t you put this on me so I can fill you up just as much as you need.’ With difficulty, I lean to one side so I can extricate my wallet from my trouser pocket and pull out a condom. My plan is twofold—let her sink down right here, impaling herself on me at her own pace so she can adjust to my size. Then I’ll stand us up and fuck her against one of those bookshelves, because Lord knows, I’ll have little leverage in this position.

She shuffles backwards sufficiently to release my cock from the waistband of my boxer briefs. I don’t miss the sensual way her teeth sink down into that delectable bottom lip as she takes my bare, achingly hard shaft in her hand with something approaching reverence.

‘Oh God,’ she murmurs, letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment. ‘You’re so perfect, Adam.’

Our eyes meet. Hold. ‘So are you. Wrap me up, sweetheart.’

She glances behind her at the closed door.

‘No one’s coming in. I promise you.’

I’ll take her to bed shortly, but I need to take her here, first, in this room she’s entranced with, where we’ve shared such searingly raw confidences. I’ll fuck her hard against the books she adores and ruin her, just like she’s ruining me.

We’re both still as she tears the condom wrapper, pinching the tip of the latex and positioning it on my crown before rolling it down me. She’s slower and less deft than I would be, and I marvel at the focus on her beautiful face as she performs her ritual, rendering something that’s usually perfunctory anticipatory and delicious. But as soon as it’s on, I’m tugging her back towards me so she’s forced to widen her knees.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ I urge her. ‘It’s time to feel me.’ I slide my fingers between us and hook the flimsy thong out of the way, allowing myself a moment to appreciate how impossibly silken and wet and welcoming she feels for me. My dick is so engorged it may snap off if it can’t sink inside her body right away.

She whimpers as I circle her clit. She’s every bit as swollen as I am. I replace my fingers with my dick, dragging its sheathed tip through her wetness before notching it at the place right at the centre of her, the place whose tight heat will, I know, suck me in, choke me, wring everything from me.

I won’t be the one ‘taking’ her, I realise now. Not in the slightest. She’ll take me, and she’ll milk me dry as surely as a vengeful goddess might demand that a sacrificial lamb be bled out for her, and this sinner—this willing, willing victim—will welcome every blessed moment of it.