Page 72 of Red Masquerade

“Adam,” I breathed, pulling away from his lips, if only to order my thoughts.

But he nipped at my breasts through my slip, his tongue massaging my nipples through the cloth. I melted.

“Vince,” he breathed against me, teeth sinking into my breast. “Call me Vince.”

Crying out, I clutched him tightly to me, and suddenly, his hands were lifting me off of his lap, only long enough to swiftly undo the fly of his pants, and then I was sinking on to him. I took him slowly, his size stretching me to the point of pain.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, palming my ass, pushing me down until our hips met.

My muscles clenched in protest at the intrusion, a delicious burn settling in my core. My face fell to the crook of his neck, my breaths coming in short pants against his throat. God, I had forgotten what it was to have him inside of me. I thought I remembered, and had thought of that night often, but memories were only so reliable.

The truth was that he was made for me, filling me so wonderfully I didn’t think I could move. I could finish just like that, with him stretching me and nudging that spot deep within me that turned me into a mewling puddle.

If I moved, I would shatter.

He knew this, his hands guiding me, pushing me and pulling me along his cock. It quickly turned to a frenzy, the slick spot between my thighs growing ever wetter, my heat hungrily taking him in, only to feel empty in the brief moments he retreated. Delicious friction turned to pleasure at the apex of my thighs as I rubbed against him.

“I want to be dripping down your thighs when you finally come home,” he grunted, his voice pinched as if he were in pain. His dark auburn hair hung over his eyes, unkempt, and he looked at me with a frenzy that matched my own, his pupils pin-point. His sharp teeth poked at his lip, peeking out from inside his mouth. He watched me move over him, his hands gripping so tightly on my hips, his nails digging into nearly the same spot as they had when we’d found each other again.

“Yes,” I sighed.

In that moment, I wanted everyone to know, if they saw me, how ruined I was for him.

His words sent a flood of heat to where we joined, and my muscles involuntarily clenched, the electricity between us building even higher. I wanted to crest that hill so badly, but I didn’t want this to end.

His fist tangled in the hair at the base of my skull, wrenching my face away from him. I cried out, his thrusts brutally strong and deep, his hold on my hair so vise-like I couldn’t move. He roughly returned his own mouth to my throat, my only view that of the ceiling of the car. My back was forced into an arch that brought him even deeper into me. Tears burned at my eyes, the pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.

He bit softly into my neck, and the strange sensation of his teeth pressing into my skin sent a bolt of fear through me. I was completely bared to him, completely at his mercy. But he didn’t puncture the skin, just held his teeth there, like he couldn’t resist a taste, but was fighting the monster within him. His tongue flicked in between the two knife-like teeth, my pulse beating erratically between his lips.

I almost said it aloud, that I wanted him to do it, to pass that threshold, to stop being gentle with me, but he moved me roughly, in a way the both of us needed, my body his, and his now mine.

My hands fisted in his shirt, my fingers trailing to his collar, where his throat met his shoulders. A sheen of sweat coated his skin, his flesh cold, but a heat beginning to sear through the ice.

He pumped into me furiously, my hips slamming against his.

“Come, my darling,” he hissed, the hand at my hip gripping me so tightly, his fingers bruised against the still-healing marks from before.

Hot tears escaped, streaming down my cheeks, and I screamed. The walls of my heat spasmed as he rutted into me, the head of his cock pounding against that deepest part of me. There was nowhere else for him to go, but he rocked into me, forcing himself to reach that most sensitive spot that sent me careening.

The electricity of our joining shot through my limbs, my inner muscles milking his cock as he slammed me down one final time. My orgasm came seconds before his. He groaned into my neck, inadvertently forcing my head back, his fists tightening in my hair, pulling so sharply it brought more tears to my eyes.

I gasped, feeling him pulse within me. His breathing turned jagged as he shot his seed into me, coating every inch inside me.

“Fuck,” he breathed, thrusting once, twice, as if to make sure the imprint of him within me was permanent.

I wanted it to be.

I didn’t want anyone else.

I fell limp in his arms as he released my hair, turning into a rag doll draped over him. My blood still hummed with energy, theheaviness in my chest dissipating as pleasure took over. Though we did not move, my walls still clenched around him, as though that part of me wanted more.

And God, did I want more.

He clutched me to him, his own breathing slowing, one hand still glued to my waist, the other bracing my neck. I looked up at him, my vision still a little blurry, and for a brief moment, I felt I wanted to cry, overcome with the experience of joining with him again. Of finding him again.