Page 94 of Death's Daughter
“No, no,” I protest. I turn his arms, yanking ineffectively at the buttons on his shirt with shaking hands. He takes over for me, brushing my hands away when it’s clear I’m not making much progress.
But that just leaves me to tug at the button on his jeans. His breath catches and his hands go still on his shirt.
I slide my hand between the zipper and his erection, stroking the heat and hardness of him with one hand while I open the front of his jeans with the other.
Jaw tight, he thrusts hard into my hand, the head of him pushing through the opening in his black boxer briefs. His control is slipping.
With visible effort, he stops, extricating himself from my grasp.
“Turn. Hands,” he grits out. He guides me to the footboard, placing my hands on the smooth wood.
It feels good to surrender control for a moment, to let someone else tell me what to do. My head is always so full of what I should do, what I shouldn’t, am I doing the wrong thing, taking too much, not enough.
But now… now there’s nothing but silence in my head, and the relief is immense.
He tugs at the waistband of my leggings. Leggings may be sexy to wear, but they are not sexy to get into—or out of, as the case may be.
But Carter makes it hot, slowly peeling the fabric down my legs, kissing every inch of exposed skin, which only makes the empty ache in me pulse harder.
He helps me step out of them, guiding me one leg at a time. Leaving me standing there in drenched panties and nothing else.
When he stands, he taps the inside of my thigh, encouraging me to part my legs for him. And I do, knees trembling with need.
Fabric rustles behind me, and then the heat of his body presses against me and he kisses down my back, pulling my hips into him.
His cock slides between my legs, hot skin catching and stuttering on the damp fabric of my panties. “That works for you?”
“Yes, but just now please,” I beg.
A rough noise emerges from his throat. “I mean, it doesn’t hurt your back,” he says tightly.
“Yes, no, it doesn’t hurt,” I babble.
The warmth of him vanishes, and a second later, I hear the rattle and thump of a drawer opening and closing, followed by the crinkle of a condom wrapper.
Oh, thank God. I have a birth control implant in my arm, but I am not taking chances, not with my heritage.
Carter helps me step out of my panties. Then he steadies mewith one hand on my back and slips his fingers inside me, taking moisture from me to spread on himself.
It is unbearably, torturously sexy.
Then, finally, finally, he reaches down, fingers spreading me open for his latex-wrapped cock.
The thick head presses into me, slow pressure that stings a little at this angle without more moisture, and yet I only crave more.
Dipping my head, I angle my hips upward, and breath escapes him in a sharp hiss.
I’ve had him in my hand, in my mouth before, but this is tighter, more intense. Every move pulls at both of us.
On my tiptoes, I push back against him, taking him deeper, and he groans. “You’re killing me.”
We both freeze for a second.
“Not like that,” he says gently, his hand reassuring on my hip. He leans forward to lay open-mouthed kisses on my back, carefully avoiding my spine. “I just mean you feel so good, and I just want to bury myself inside you.” He slips his hand around to caress my clit again until that spreading warmth returns.
After a few moments, everything in me loosens and relaxes again, opening up to him.
“That’s it. Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Aren’t you, Jocasta? Letting me fuck you.”
