K. Bromberg - Raced

Add another demon to the pile within because I sure as fuck don’t deserve a quick stop in Heaven before I take the long ride to Hell, but I’m taking it.

Without thought, my hands frame her face and my lips are on hers. I’m hungry for the taste of her, desperate for the feel of her. Smooth skin, gentle moans, soft against hard.

She’s like a fix to an addiction. I thought if I had a taste, I’d want it less, but fuck me, all I can think of is more. Take more, want more, feel more, need more.

One hand is on her neck, the other on her back, and I pull her against me, need her against me from chest to knee. My mouth takes, nips, and sips. Her reactions spur me on. The moan in her throat when I suck on her tongue. The arch of her back when I tug on her lip with my teeth. Her body begs for the things her lips refuse to ask me for. And fuck if it’s not the hottest thing to know she wants this as desperately as I do, but I need to be in control here. Need to own the situation and the shit I keep pushing out of my head.

Her hands fist my shirt, need burning a hole through me, my dick aching, my body waiting to claim. In reflex, I grab her hands and pin them above the wall over our heads so she’s completely open to me.

Mine to control. To set the pace. To prevent her from revealing the shit that needs to stay behind lock and key.

I bring my free hand down to hold her chin so I can brand her lips again. Kiss her senseless so she has no other fucking option than to say yes to the question I so desperately want to ask. But when my fingers hold her there, her eyes flutter up to look into mine, dark lashes framing the most unique of colors. And although my dick is rock hard and wanting to act, I stumble over thoughts I don’t mean to say but that fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“ Not inconsequential , Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers to give myself a moment to try and figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. “No—you and me—together, that would make you mine . Mine .”

My confession shocks me. I mean it’s one thing to think the words and another fucking thing to say them. Hell yes, they’re true, but since when do I say crap like this? Give a woman a drawer for her shit when I only plan on letting her pass through the ever-revolving bedroom door.

My honesty scares the shit out of me. Makes me question when I never second guess myself.

I take a deep breath and step back, releasing her hands still held by mine, our eyes never breaking. And I don’t know what it is now that I’m asking her because hell if I know. I’m confused as fuck, desperate to bury myself in her and at the same time trying to figure out what this feeling in the pit of my stomach is.

It’s always been pleasure to bury the pain. The sex to quiet my head, override the shame coating my soul, so why the hell is my head screaming right now?

She reaches out to me, her fingers scraping against my abdomen, and fuck if my body doesn’t jolt at the connection. I cuffed her hands because I’m used to being in control, used to setting the pace, so why the fuck am I not stopping her. Why do her fingers feel like she’s lighting my skin on fire? Like she’s burning me with her touch.

I close my eyes, her hands on my back, and my breath labored with the desire that’s so strong I feel like I’m ready to snap. To take without asking.

And then her lips touch mine. Soft and sweet. That fucking perfect contradiction against her hands pulling my body into hers. Her tongue teases by tracing my bottom lip and thoughts of how it can trace the line of my cock have me reaching up to touch her face.

I make my hands go there so I can control the need to rip zippers and feast on her flesh, take the usual route when she is anything but my usual, when the situation is so far from my norm that I’m flying solo without a pit crew for back-up. So instead I force myself to part her lips with my tongue, challenge myself to see how long I can last with this tender and soft when all I really want to do is be rough and sate my greed.

I push my limits. Control the desperation. Even when her fingers dig in my shoulders and urge me on, I rein it in. Every time she moves, my dick rubs against her lower belly and I kiss her a little deeper to lose myself for just a moment. To encourage my resistance.

And then she sighs.

Sweet Christ. How can such a simple sound make a man want to lose his fucking control when he’s already held out against every other form of her unbeknownst seduction? But that sigh … fuck, the sound owns me in ways I never thought possible.

I can’t take the assault on my senses anymore. I just fucking can’t. I press my hands on the wall on either side of her head, my last attempt at restraint. And I’m such a dumbass that I think if my hands are not on her, I can control my urge to take her as I see fit. Take her in ways I don’t think by the innocence in her eyes she’s experienced yet.

Because shit, she’s a soft and slow, make love not just fuck kind of girl and I’m the exact opposite. Physical overriding emotional every day because I can’t do emotional. And she deserves so much better than me. I might be a selfish prick but I know this much.

The problem is she’s so goddamn addictive that even though I’ve occupied my hands, I allow myself one small hit. I rest my forehead against the curve of her neck, nose buried. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her perfume and shampoo make my balls tighten and use up my last ounce of control.

“Sweet Jesus, Rylee.” I lace kisses along her shoulder while my body aches painfully to have her wrapped around me. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”

I raise my head and look into her eyes. Last chance, Ryles. Escape while you can. But she stands her ground, unwavering, accepting of the warning in my eyes and the dominance in my stance.

“Come.” God help me because when all is said and done, I think I’m going to need it to walk away from her. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Even she knows I’m inviting her into the lion’s den.

I give her a soft smile, pretending I can’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, ignoring it as I draw her further in … and that makes me even worse of a man than I already thought.

We walk, desire leading us and desperation owning our thoughts. I think I mumble an explanation that I have a room, but I’m not sure because my thoughts are consumed by every single thing about her. Fucking consumed when I’ve never been this way before.

I usher her into the elevator, unlock the penthouse all the while my dick is begging me to push the red button, halt the elevator right here, right now and take her on the floor. Feed the greed and be done with her.

Return to familiar ground and be the asshole I know that I am.

I reach out to touch her back, begin the process, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t treat her like she’s inconsequential and prove her right. I mutter something about her hair, asking why she’s changed the curls I’ve thought about holding in one hand so I can watch while my cock fucks her mouth. She responds about not fitting a mold but shit my mind is back onto the image of her bobbing her head up and down with hollowed out cheeks and I can’t focus.

“Sometimes change is good.” She’s staring at me when I break from my thoughts.

I mumble a response about liking her curls, sounding so innocent but really being anything but because my mind is thinking about how fucking bad I want her right now. And then her comment breaks into my thoughts … s ometimes change is good.

Is that what this is? A change from my typical so it’s got my dick in a twist?