It’s my only thought. Not sure if it’s because I think this is a bad idea, that I don’t want this to stop, or that I finally found a man who seems on board with what I like and isn’t shying away from a bit of pain inflicted on him.
This man has driven me nuts. Absolutely, completely nuts over the last few days. He’s there when I wake up, there when I go to sleep. I even dream about him. Okay, it was once. And I swear I didn’t enjoy it… much. Thankfully, I woke to find myself alone in the living room. No clue if I was moaning out loud like I was in my dream, but I like to pretend that moment didn’t happen.
Just like I’m sure after tonight, I’ll pretend this didn’t happen either. I can easily blame this on the number of drinks I’ve had. Not that I’m drunk. Not even buzzed. I’ve got a tingle, but I have a high tolerance. I learned young, and despite us being on the run, I’ve never felt the need to go without a drink for the sake of anything. Never been dependent on it, but also never saw the harm in using it.
Bass bites my lips, and it pulls me from my head, thinking about how to forget this to living in the moment and moaning at how the pain morphs to pleasure as he pushes into me more. I feel every part of him as his weight forces my foot to slide down the wall, going from a bent knee to both feet flat on the floor.
I fight him for dominance in the kiss, more because I like the fight than ever really wanting the control. It’s aggressive. Possessive. Violent.
And I fucking love every bit of it.
Well, I thought I did, till Bass does something unexpected but completely encouraged, pulling a soul-gutting moan from my lips as he yanks my hair so hard that I’m forced to drop his lips and look up to the ceiling. His lips nibble down mine to attack my neck with hard bites and harsh kisses. I would cry from pleasure if I were the crying sort.
“Damn, you’re good at that. Maybe you’re the one who should give that vamp pointers on technique.”
He doesn’t stop, but his deep chuckle has goose bumps popping across my skin. God, if I don’t love a multitasking man.
He pins me with his shoulders, and I’m so lost in the sensation of his lips moving across my neck to my collarbone that I miss the wiggle in his body till I feel his own knee push between my legs and rise. My once-closed eyes flash open, and I feel the glare on my face before I think to form one. My hands are quick, reaching out to grab him, one going to his forearm to dig my nails into, the other to his hair to pull his head back. I’m too close to do much more, but I’ll start clawing and biting my way free if this asshole thinks he can make a play on me like I did him. Being kneed in the pussy hurts. A lot.
“So little trust,” he murmurs as his lips skim the top of my tank.
“Trust works both ways,” I say as I grit my teeth, holding back another moan. I hate teasing—well, usually. But the way Bass is working it, it’s setting every part of me on fire.
I’m sure it has to do with it having been a superlong time since I did anything with another person. While I might not have felt the need to go cold turkey on the drinks, I did in the sex department. The risk of not having eyes on Ollie was never worth it. But tonight, he’s at a friend’s house for a bit. I can let loose, enjoy.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to trust anyone in the process.
He grunts at my words and raises his head. I have half a mind to whine in protest that he stopped, but I bite my bottom lip hard instead. I refuse to show how weak I am right now. ’Cause I am so weak for this. For this little blip of pleasure in my otherwise painful and lonely life.
“Of the two of us, I haven’t lied.” He holds my stare. Neither of us breaks contact, not even while his grip on my hair tightens. Nor when he reaches up and grabs my hand from his hair, pulling till I relent and let go. I take a few pieces in my grasp, but to his credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch.
Slowly, confidently, he puts my hand on the wall by my head before guiding his fingers over my wrist, then forearm. He moves past my elbow to my shoulder, consistently touching me as I watch his eyes. His touch sparks heat in its wake, and my breathing becomes erratic. I don’t know why I leave my hand on the wall or still my movements to let him do whatever he wants, but I do.
He trails his hand from my shoulder to my chest, a teasing touch that I wish he would stop and pay homage to, but that isn’t his goal. His hand leaves a warmth behind, butthe metal of his ring brings a chill. He goes lower, over my ribs, my belly button, and then stops at my belt buckle.
His eyes say nothing. Not asking for permission or demanding entrance. There’s nothing but determination. With quick work, my buckle is undone, jeans popped open, and his hand is skimming beneath my underwear.
I hitch a breath as his fingertips touch my sensitive clit, then rise on my tiptoes as he ventures farther south before moving a step closer to put his fingers in me. Not one to ease in but two, and those digits ain’t skinny. I squirm. It’s an adjustment, one I welcome, even if it’s more than mildly uncomfortable for a second or two.
He pulls my hair again as he pumps into me, gliding his fingers over my walls as his thumb plays a solo drum set on the spot a friend back home called the “moneymaker.” My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I should be embarrassed by how wet I am or how quickly I’m gushing over his fingers, but I’m not the type to be ashamed of anything my body does. Plus, for all fish boy’s faults—and there are many—he’s got talented fingers.
My cunt pulses, something I’m sure he can feel, as it’s the only time he shows emotion on his face, his lips parting slightly as he breathes out quickly. I’m close, so close. And for once, I don’t have to beg the guy to keep going or to not stop. Bass gets closer, if that’s possible, and doubles his efforts while his mouth tries to tame my own.
But I’m never the type to not go down swinging, and I fight for control in my typical fashion, only relenting to be a participant and not the owner when I crash over. The orgasm is more intense than any I’ve given myself over the years, and I would have fallen on my ass if Bass didn’t have me pressed so close tothe wall that I’m curious to know if there will be an indent in the plaster after we’re done.
His lips are quick to adjust from the fight to lazy kisses that have me following his head in an effort to get more of it. His fingers still work me hard, wringing everything out of me for however long I take to come down from this high.
When he pulls his fingers from me, followed by his lips, he takes a step back. I lock my knees to prevent from falling and breathe through what just happened. Do I care that I just got fingerfucked in a hallway? No. Honestly, it’s not my first time doing so. But it might be the best one I’ve had, so it’s taking a bit more to pull myself together than when I usually direct how these things go. I also usually have more than two brain cells to rub together to form a thought, much less words.
Thankfully, my eyes still work, and I track his movements. I might feel annoyed that he’s pulling out his phone and looking at something, but my eyes are on his other hand. The one with fingers still glistening from me coming. I’m enraptured as I watch him scan his phone while licking his fingers clean, as if ice cream dropped on them. He does it for his own benefit, nothing more. There’s no show; he’s not looking at me watching him suck my cum down his throat, cleaning his hand free of my scent. And fuck if that doesn’t send another pulse fluttering to my girl between my legs.
“Let’s go.”
I hear the words, but I’m still trying to put myself together, so I just look at him, blinking away like an idiot.
He puts his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, Ollie needs you.”
That he says it casually before turning and walking away calmly is probably why my brain takes an extra fifteen seconds to get on board.
