Rogue

  “I think you’re a bastard. But you’re so sexy in this suit . . .” I whisper as I start working his belt off his slacks, straddling him so that if I wanted to, I could drop my hips and rub the most painful spot in my body against that big, delicious bulge on his lap. “And I want to fuck you hard because you made me think you were better, you made me think you wanted me for more than this,” I add. “Asshole.”

  He grabs his belt when I pull it free, tosses it aside with a clatter, and then moves like lightning, rolling me to my back, and whipping out my arms to pin them over my head. I gasp, and he smiles. “Caught you,” he rasps, sliding a hand down the inside of my arm. Starting to pant from the delicious weight of his body pressing down on mine, I wiggle my hand free, pull his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks, and start unbuttoning his shirt from the very bottom, hurrying to the top.

  He releases my wrist and slowly pushes my dress up to my hips. “You have a filthy mouth, Melanie. Did you know that I can fill it with come, just like that, so the next sound you make is that of you swallowing?”

  “Maybe the next sound is you yelling when I bite the head of your thick pink cock,” I breathe and my thoughts scatter when he growls, “Shut up now,” and kisses me. Hard and deliciously.

  The actual next sound in the room is nothing but wet, slippery tongues meshing, rasping of fabric as he pulls my dress higher. I melt beneath his mouth, hot and powerful and more ravenous than any mouth that’s ever fitted itself to mine . . . and it truly feels like all we’ve said means nothing, that this means everything.

  His scent fills me like a warmth curling in my tummy as he hikes my skirt up to my waist to expose my lacy black thong. The air caresses my bare ass cheeks, and the next second, he’s palming them in his warm hands.

  “Are you happy to see me now, Melanie?” he murmurs, his voice low and textured as he uses my ass to draw me flat up against him.

  I whimper, I’m so turned on. “Not yet,” I lie.

  He brushes his lips across mine, teasing me. “You sure?”

  Once again, his lips make a pass over mine, warm, velvety.

  My blood feels thick and hot in my veins. Suddenly I can’t think of anything that I want more than this one, one kiss. But I can never let a man like him know it or he’ll break me.

  “I’m sure,” I lie again, holding on to the back of his strong neck as I flick my tongue out to run it along the seam of his lips.

  That lick proves to be our undoing.

  He groans and comes out to play with my tongue with his, his lips closing over mine at the most perfect angle. A shudder runs through us both. It even feels like we groan at the same time, our kiss degrading from slow and sensual to fast and raw. I unbutton the rest of his shirt, my hands trembling from the rush. He grabs the top of my strapless dress and yanks it down to my waist, exposing every part of my body except for where the silk of my dress circles my hips.

  When he edges back to look at my not-so-large breasts, but my rather outspoken nipples, I’m almost drowning with a sudden shyness.

  It doesn’t last long, for he cups the mounds, as if he were holding diamonds in his hands, paying extra attention to the beaded, hard little points at the tip. His thumbs pay extra attention to them, rubbing, stroking.

  “You might not be happy yet,” he rasps in my ear, “but these little beauties are thrilled to see me. Thrilled . . . to see me.” When he sucks one into his mouth, an exquisite pleasure curls my toes. My head falls back into his pillow as I moan, low in my throat. He rocks his hips to tease me with his erection. I’m teased, tortured, consumed, throbbing. I shudder and start rocking up to him too. God, he’s going to torture me and I know it.

  He tugs my dress over my head, then his hands explore my thighs and move onto my taut stomach, then up to tweak my nipples. My pussy burns and clutches as I slide my fingers through the parting of his shirt, running my hands up his warm, sculpted chest.

  I stroke his scar, then use my thumb and forefinger to tug on his nipple ring. His body contracts with pleasure and I see it. I see how he responds to my touch, so I greedily run my hands up and down his chest, every possible muscle in existence bulging under my fingers.

  “You like that?” I whisper.

  I don’t even let him answer because my mouth blends into his again as I push him around and straddle him. Lowering my body, I can feel his erection settled perfectly between my legs, straining hot and large against his zipper. God. Edging his shirt aside, I bend over and start licking his piercing, shivering when he slides the tips of his fingers into the elastic of my G string . . . dipping into the lace V.

  “Come here, you hot little thing you,” he murmurs as he holds the back of my head and forces my lips to come over his again. The moment his mouth is on mine, his finger is in me. My sex clenches as a moan escapes me and I rock my hips, needing the friction of his hardness against my clit as he rubs his finger in me.

  He thrusts back like he needs the contact too while the scar on the center of his palm rasps over my nipples as he cups one. “Juicy cunt, juicy tits, juicy blonde princess.”

  When he licks one nipple, I arch and throw my head back, gasping in sweet agony. I grind my hips instinctively, wanting more, craving more as we both strain to get closer. He bites and sucks me, then shoves his tongue against the tip of my nipple, making it poke back. I run my hands over his hair, then try to shove his shirt off his massively muscular shoulders.

  He pulls his finger out of me and stops me with both hands. “Leave it on,” he murmurs, then he rolls me onto my back and yanks my arms up over my head.

  “But I want to touch you,” I breathe, undulating my body against the weight of his.

  He pins my arms up in one hand and pulls off his tie with the other, then he wraps it tightly around my wrists. “Tonight, only I touch.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I say so.”

  I can’t suppress my shudder of excitement as he peels off my panties. He ducks his head and flames lick across my body with each open kiss he places on me, and I tilt my hips upward as he dips his tongue inside my belly button. I gasp, my body craving him like sugar, like chocolate, like sex. “Please, oh . . .”

  He murmurs shhh and opens my pussy with his fingers, eating me with his mouth. My head falls back and a noise of pleasure purls out of my throat as he starts thrusting his tongue into my channel, rubbing in a way that has me thrashing in absolute pleasure. “God, you make me lose it,” he breathes, tasting me again.

  I quiver under him, spine arched, thighs spread open, aching for his touch, his tongue, his closeness. “Greyson,” I say, breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts. He’s like every boy I made out with under the bleachers, every boy I’ve ever wanted who didn’t want me, everything that was forbidden to me. I groan as he licks a circle around my clit. “Oh god! Grey . . . Greyson . . . please . . . You’re—”

  My breaths rasp in my throat when he lifts his head and I see the unmistakable possessiveness in his eyes. He kisses my taut nipples, then studies me, bound for him, in his bed. Using my legs, I curl my thighs around his hips, urging him closer. “I’ve never begged before, but I’m begging you to touch me.”

  “What is it that you beg for, Melanie? I should be the one begging to touch you.”

  His hands start dragging up my sides. Sensations so intense, every touch of his fingers crackles over me like burning fingertips. My muscles tense and knot as my body once again heads to that place where only he takes me, where he’s not only fulfilling a physical ache, but he gets access to a place where he can rip my soul open.

  Closing my eyes as I feel some moisture burn inside them, I keep my arms over my head, bound by his tie, as he uses his thumb to play with my clit.

  He does it harder, deeper, expertly. Our eyes meet, he crushes my mouth and whispers, “I’m the one who doesn’t fucking beg, but I’ll beg for this pussy,” he rasps as his fingers prepare me, because he’s so big I need to be wet and ready and oh god, I’m so read
y.

  “Yes . . .” I say, the nearness of my orgasm audible in my voice, then his mouth is on mine again, our tongues making out, slick as he keeps rubbing me, his palm burning hot as he cups me and slides one finger in so deep. I tilt my pelvis, desperate for every inch. When he’s got me lathered up to explosion, he eases back to unzip his slacks.

  My vision is blurry from wanting this. He doesn’t even kick his pants off. He shoves them down to his knees, baring his erection, his thick, powerful thighs.

  Our mouths roam over each other as he aligns our bodies. “Hard!” I plead as I hook my bound wrists around his neck to keep him close, my lips raining kisses on his jaw. Last night, afraid and dirty and vulnerable, he was all I wanted. All I wanted. “I want you so much. HARD,” I gasp, suddenly vulnerable, shaking, needing.

  Hungrily, I nibble on his nipple ring, and he responds with a growling noise and forces me down on my back. “Impatient, hungry little girl.” He grabs his cock and rolls on the rubber, and he looks as desperate as I am as he starts feeding the head to me. “Is this what you want?”

  My eyes roll back from the pleasure and I cry, “Yes, all of it.” He groans when he sees my first tear fall, and when he cups his hands on my face as though to catch them and starts fucking me for real, my body melts into his as the world becomes full of him. Just him. Only him.

  He impales himself deeper, and I soar higher and higher. I can feel my nipples brushing his shirt, his hot breath on my face, his body in mine—and that’s all I know as my world careens on its axis. His hands won’t let go of my face, holding me for his every hard, fast, expert thrust. “That’s right, that’s exactly right, let go for me, let go for me, Melanie, I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my throat.

  My breasts are budded pink at the tips from the scrape of his shirt; I love it. I love his smell, his hands, his voice. “Yes,” I gasp as he thrusts harder, my rhythm completely clumsy now. All I want is more of him, more of him, ALL OF HIM. “Yes, yes.”

  He roars, head falling back, veins popping out in pleasure as he starts jetting off and I spread my legs wider apart as he grabs my hips and thrusts in harder, watching me lose it.

  I moan and start to thrash, somehow aware that his eyes are devouring me as I shatter into a million glowing stars.

  Moments later, I stir from my dazed stupor to notice he’s caressing one hand across my wet face, the other on my thighs where I was bruised. The touch melts me deep where it hurts me to remember, but right now, in his arms, a contentment and peace wash between us. I can feel it in his body too. As if he likes wiping my tears.

  Sighing in relaxation when he kisses my temple and dries the rest of my face, I hook my bound hands around his neck and press myself into his chest.

  “Nobody pushes me as far as you do,” I explain, my voice cottony.

  “That’s because I’m bad,” he says. He slides one hand up my arm, to where my hands are linked at his nape.

  “I’m fucking”—he kisses one eyelid—“bad for you.” He kisses another eyelid, then he kisses my mouth, and his fingers begin playing with my pussy again. My body surprises me, responding even when I didn’t think it possible.

  “Ready for more?”

  I nod.

  I can’t put a name to what I feel when he’s inside me, so maybe I won’t try to. Does it even have a name? This connection between human beings. Between a woman, and a man; a fucking asshole.

  I look at him, and he doesn’t scare me.

  He lures me.

  He tempts me, exhilarates me. He makes me want to claim him as if I’m claiming back a part of me that was once lost.

  Makes me want to tame him. Let him tame me.

  He rolls another condom on his thick cock and comes up to his knees, and I feel vulnerable and open but I don’t feel like hiding right now. I openly show him my hunger and lick and kiss his thick throat as he grabs my waist and pushes into me. I shudder uncontrollably when he’s all the way in, biting a tendon that juts out on his throat, close to my mouth.

  The rumble of the sound he makes tells me he likes it. You like it when I’m feisty? My eyes flutter open, and he looks down at me with a look of wild, hungry, proprietary lust, but also strangely reverent and gentle. We fuck lazily this time, without the initial rush, our bodies moving in synchronicity until I see stars as another climax builds and builds.

  “Go on, bite me all you want, little kitten.” He prods into my mouth, his eyes on mine as I comply, licking him, tasting him. “Do you want that to be my cock in your mouth?” his husky murmur taunts in my ear, breath hot. “Do you want to be sucking on this cock? Biting on it?”

  I gasp with renewed hunger. “When I bite it I’m going to bite hard.” With my arms hooked around his neck, I rake my nails into a part of his scalp, my hips tilting faster to keep up with his increasing rhythm.

  His laugh, once again dark, sensual, intimate as he brushes his wet thumb along my lips, the bed squeaking beneath us. “If you think I’m afraid of a little bit of teeth, you need to get to know me better, princess.” Just like that, he bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, thrusting harder so I moan.

  I bite back, and he groans such sexy sounds it only makes the sex that much more intense. My wet, snug body grips him greedily because I want him in me for as long as I can have him, but the pleasure is too absolute to last as long as I want to, even though we both seem to be trying to last.

  The mattress squeaks beneath us, harder and harder with his thrusts. I’m being just as noisy, and Greyson? He’s releasing low, male noises of pleasure too. “Get ready, princess, I’m coming so hard,” he rasps.

  “Come,” I beg. He has no idea how much I’m aching to feel him go off inside me, go off with me.

  He waits to feel me clench around him. Then, the moment it starts for me, he lets go. He comes full force, his body tightening like a bow, and when I feel him jerk in me, his hands clenching on my hips, my pleasure explodes inside me until I’m convulsing so totally I can’t keep my eyes open.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  I lay in breathless silence for a moment, realizing Greyson is untying me. He rubs my wrists with the pads of his thumbs, then plops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, his nipple ring glinting with the little rays of sunlight peeking through the window.

  The sun is rising already. I really didn’t want it to rise yet because I don’t want to leave yet.

  In silence, I go to the bathroom and when I come back to bed, he’s staring out at the city looking satisfied and exhausted, his shirt all wrinkled, his hair all mussed, his beautiful mouth swollen from me. I should get going. Probably, I should. Instead I stare at him and that mouth and I wonder how many women kissed those lips.

  Many, Melanie.

  He’s warned me off, but I don’t feel like being warned off. I feel as though somewhere, deep down, he’s bullshitting me. Why would he give me this necklace otherwise? Why would he give me, over and over, THE LOOK?

  Even so, I’ve gotta go, so I walk back to that big bed, my eyes scanning the floor for my dress even though the thought of going home alone to my apartment makes my stomach churn. I could call Pandora, but I’ll have to be prepared for her drilling the shit out of me, I guess.

  “Do you see my dress?” I whisper to him.

  His voice is gruff with tiredness, his eyes hooded as he pulls open the bedsheet for me.

  “Yeah, I set it aside to avoid the clutter. Come here and get some sleep.”

  Oh, god, I really didn’t want to leave, but I don’t want him to know how much I want to sleep here tonight either.

  So I stand there, naked and unsure for a moment.

  “I don’t have to stay,” I say, but there’s this way he has of looking at you—as if he’s commanding you. It’s very odd. I’ve never encountered anyone who could have such control with a single look.

  Caving in to it, I find myself quietly heading over. His lips curl as he lifts the sheet h
igher and I see his naked body under the cover.

  I feel strangely awkward as I slide into bed with him, first sitting on the corner of the bed and quickly braiding my hair; I wouldn’t fall asleep otherwise, I simply can’t stand waking up and feeling it on my face.

  I sense his curious gaze watching my every move, and when I sigh and lie down on my side, facing a stone fireplace on the far side of the room, he laughs behind me. “You really plan to sleep way over there?”

  “I don’t want to intrude!” I laugh nervously. “I don’t stay over usually.”

  “You just like to fuck and get away, that’s fine, princess. Except for the fact that I’m not done with you.”

  He reaches out and guides me toward him by my braid, and when I don’t protest the maneuver and actually feel like tucking myself closer to his warmth, he exhales softly. “You’re something, aren’t you,” he murmurs, taking my braid in his fist and forcing me to roll over and face him. Then he pins my head against his, forehead to forehead. “Maybe I’ll sleep tonight; you wear a man out.”

  “What do you mean?” I peer up at him, notice the hard set of his jaw. “You don’t sleep?”

  “Not well, but I’ll go for it if you will,” he softly teases me.

  “Then let’s go for it,” I say, grinning.

  It feels like, for several minutes, we stay as we are, him with the merest curve of his lips while I’m smiling completely, both of us looking into each other’s eyes. I have no idea what he sees in my eyes that holds him so intently engrossed, but I can’t look away from his gaze either. It’s so closed and mysterious while, at the same time, I can see a fiery rawness in his gaze, as if he desperately wants something from me.

  Not something: all of me.

  “Come here,” he rasps. He makes the first move, easing one of his arms around me, pulling me against his side. I cuddle into his large body, a little tense at first, but at the same time, achingly aware of every spot where our naked bodies are touching. Where my breasts press into his ribs, my cheek on his chest, one of my legs hooking in between his.