Page 84 of Existential
I catch the twitch of his lips in the pale light before he slaps me on the side of the ass, pulls out, and flips me over. Excitement courses through me in waves, the adrenalin as fresh as if I were standing in line for a roller coaster that promised to scare me half to death.
I wriggle my butt at him as he repositions himself further onto the bed behind me. He slaps it hard, lining himself up with my entrance once more, before filling me balls deep.
One hand wraps around my throat, the other snaking around my mid-section and up to my breast as he pulls my body up flush with his. I’m seated in his lap, on his cock, and God damn if the position doesn’t feel made for me.
My taunts come back to bite me as he pistons his hips upwards, slamming me hard, sending shockwaves through my body that barely have time to dissipate before he hits me with another. I moan under his palm, his grip tightening the harder he strikes. I feel him bottom out on every stroke, and it’s pure heaven.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I murmur as he grunts with each thrust. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
“Full of surprises, fairy,” he groans out between thrusts. “Fuckin’ dirty surprises.”
Dirty. Apparently I am.
And apparently he’s the one who knows how to bring these hidden parts of me out.
I’ve never felt more complete, even more so when he growls his release and warms me from the inside out.
***
The distinct hum of people socializing drifts under the door as I open my eyes on the room we stayed in last night after he fucked me six ways from Sunday, twice. I check out the surroundings, everything new in the daylight, feeling strangely sated at the smooth, even sounds of his breathing beside me.
He was a perfect gentleman after we exorcised our need for each other. We lay naked and talked into the small hours. About everything and anything. He told me about his sister Dana, who he lost. As well as his father and what happened to the club on his watch. They fell apart, lost their sense of unity, and with everything that’s happened to these people the last five to ten years, I can totally understand why.
They’ve been threatened, blackmailed, cornered with financial obligations, and had people they love taken too soon.
It’s not an easy life, and I’d be a liar to say that doesn’t still worry me a little.
“What you thinkin’ about?”
I whip my head around on the pillow to look at Hooch, yet his eyes are still closed. The only indicator he’s awake apart from the obvious question, is a small smile on his lips.
Lips that make me feel treasured. Lips that send a current surging through me at the memory of what they did last night.
“Nothing much.”
“Usually means somethin’ when a woman says that.”
I chuckle, scooting down closer to him. “Morning.”
“Mornin’.” He opens his eyes, blinking a couple of times before his smile spreads. “I would kiss you, but I’ve probably got terrible mornin’ breath.”
Probably smells like me, too.
I lift my hand to his forehead and frown. “You look hot, but you feel cold.”
“Detox, baby.”
“How do you handle it so well?” I haven’t had a lot of experience personally with people who are drug addicted, but from what I’ve caught on TV documentaries, or read in articles on the net, they’re usually pretty hard to handle when they choose to quit.
He rubs a palm over his face and yawns. “Necessity. Ain’t got time to be laid out on my back feelin’ sorry about myself. Neither does anyone else.”
“Well, I admire you for it.”
“Don’t.” He pushes up on one elbow, the sheet falling free of his large shoulder. “Don’t make out that my stupid decisions are anything to be praised about. I knew what it would do to me, and it was fuckin’ dumb.”
“I’m not disputing that.” I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling.
He reaches across and strokes my hair out straight on the pillow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”