I sink my front teeth into my bottom lip as his fingers swipe between my folds through the gaps in the fishnets. He teases my clit until I soak his hand with my arousal. My eyes flutter open and find him staring at me with a hooded gaze full of hunger.
A predator looks back at me through him, and I should hate it, but my body once again responds to him as though we’re two halves of the same whole. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I study his eyes; rather, I study what little I can see of them. Flecks of amber dance within his dark-brown irises, and just a hint of blue lingers near his pupils. My lips part on a sigh as he focuses on my clit, rolling it between his fingers.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
I shudder and bury my hands in his dark hair.
He kidnapped you, I chide.You can’t be getting butterflies over his small praise.
He removes his hand from between my legs and stands to his full height in front of me. With his hand on my shoulder, he guides me to my knees. My face is directly in line with his dick, which strains beneath his jeans, the large outline making my pussy clench with need.
He kidnapped you. He kidnapped you.
He takes my hand and covers his stiff bulge with my palm. “This is what you do to me.” He grates out each word as though he’s struggling to speak. “I’ve been hard since the moment I saw you in the elevator.”
My stomach free falls, like I’m on a rollercoaster that’s just dropped over the first hill, and I lose all sense of gravity.
He steps behind me. His clothes rustle, and a moment later, his jacket, shirt, and pants join my shorts. I turn my head to look at him, but his gloved hand whips forward, fists my hair, and yanks my head back so that I have to look at the ceiling. I bare my teeth and hiss from the sting in my scalp as he roughly shoves me onto my hands and knees.
“All the way down,” he growls.
“Please,” I whisper, not sure if I’m begging for him to stop or keep going.
I lower my torso until my breasts are squished beneath me. My cheek rests on the rug, and I’m forced to stare at all the antique books collecting dust on the bookshelf across from me. It looks as though they haven’t been touched in years. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears before they come.
I’ve never felt so vulnerable before.
The music plays louder, drowning out my soft cries as he widens my stance, showing him everything. I expect to feel the blunt head of his erection against my pussy, but he leans over me. His mouth brushes against my ear, causing my eyes to snap open as he lifts his mask slightly to give me a gentle kiss.
“I need you soaking wet for me,” he murmurs.
I jump as he rips a hole in my fishnets to give himself easier access. His fingers slip between my folds, and he groans deep in his chest.
The corners of his mouth lift against my sensitive skin. “You’re wet, but not wet enough.”
My lips part on a sigh as he draws back, his weight disappearing. I curl my fingers into the fur, and a startled moanslips out of me as his tongue laps between my pussy lips. My hips move on their own, bucking back against him as he focuses his tongue against my clit. When two of his fingers slip inside me, I try so hard to dislike this, but it feels so good.
I’m so sorry, Jaxon, I cry in my thoughts.He gave me no choice, and I can’t help that he’s making this feel so good.
My eyebrows furrow when his tongue flicks against my swollen bundle of nerves. His tongue feels like it’s split in the middle. The two ends move in different directions, just as Jaxon’s can.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I imagine the man behind me is him and not this stranger.
My orgasm gives me no warning and slams into me, ripping the air from my lungs. His fingers fuck me harder, coaxing out every bit of my climax until I’m keening like a wanton bitch.
“Get on with it,” one of the leaders grumbles, loud enough to be heard over the music.
My husband gets back to his knees and swipes the head of his cock between my folds several times, teasing me and allowing me to feel him as he drags this moment out. The anticipation is killing me.
I pant and push my hips back to meet him as he notches the tip outside my entrance. His hand rests on the small of my back, holding me in place as he forces himself inside me. I grit my teeth at his massive size and how he can barely pop the tip past the tight ring.
I scream from the burn, and grapple at the rug. My back arches on its own, my body trying to escape the source of the pain. He pauses and grips my waist, yanking me back to him as the head of his pulsing cock stretches me just past the opening.
“Count the piercings,” he says gruffly. “One for each inch. When you get to nine, the worst will beover.”
“N-nine?” He has piercings too? Does every man have their junk pierced or what?
