Page 75 of Wicked Little Secret
I was on the floor too, playing with my Lego blocks and stuffed animals. But I didn’t understand why she was crying. She gasped for air like she couldn’t breathe and more tears poured from her. Sounds of grief I wouldn’t make sense of ’til I was much older…
“Nyssa,” Theron says, shaking me slightly. “Are you lost in thought or am I that boring of a conversationalist?”
“Oh, I was… the first one…”
“It does make me wonder,” he thinks aloud, “why you were with him. Why you’re friends with a twit like Driscoll.”
Where I was considering vulnerability a split second ago, now I snap back to my role. “Because sometimes people click, Theron,” I say. “Sometimes different people connect. If you’re going to judge my relationships, then maybe this was a mistake.”
“What you call judging, I call curiosity.Honesty.” His palm slides up the side of my neck ’til it’s framing my face and he’s close enough for another kiss. “You know damn well what I mean. A girl like you—so witty, so bright, so interesting—and the likes ofthem. Opposite of everything you are.”
My offense fades for a faint smile. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
“I’ve had many thoughts about you. Some pure. Some… not-so-pure.”
I giggle. “Okay, honestly, that feels like an accomplishment. I’ve worked so hard for your approval.”
“Have you?” He raises a thick brow and strokes his thumb along my cheek.
“Mhmmm. Do you think I answer first in every class I’m in? I wanted you to notice me.”
“Well, you did a damn good job at that.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
The mood becomes playful again as he plants a deep kiss on my lips and my nails rake down his chest. The hairs speckled there tickle the pads of my fingers and turn me on—so does the solid, masculine feel of the rest of his body.
Theron’s not some muscular gym rat bench pressing hundreds of pounds, but he’s in impeccable shape in other ways. His muscle tone’s modest but defined and his build is trim and lean. He’s got a happy trail that travels from his navel down the center of his pelvis, straight to his penis.
I grip him and stroke him and listen to the throaty groans he releases as I do.
He makes me feel sexual.
Hungry.
My body pulses with desire in ways it never has for Samson. For almost any other guy I’ve dated.
We kiss with tongue, the heat dialing up. He hardens in my grasp, his dick so velvety and silken yet stiff and hot. I need no other invitation than his erection to throw my leg over his side and mount him.
His eyes darken, his jaw clenched as I sink down ’til he’s buried deep inside.
We’re already so familiar and comfortable with each other that we slip into motion at once. He drags me back down to his mouth and I bounce my hips.
Theron fills his hands with my flesh. He encourages every undulation as I work my body and ride him.
I sit up, my head angled toward the ceiling, my lungs empty.
His dick deep.
Hitting all the right spots. Setting off the thousands of little nerves inside my pussy.
I come like this, bouncing on his dick ’til I’m clamping down and unraveling. My orgasm jets through me like a spout of water erupting.
Then Theron’s throwing me off him. He’s pinning me down and slamming back into me. We’re gyrating amid my breathless screams as he crushes his lips to mine and drills deeper. He fucks me hard and fast without regard, his hands everywhere at once.
I can only shudder and take every punishing thrust.
In a matter of minutes, we’re spent all over again. We lay side by side, gazes on the ceiling, without a thought in our heads.