Page 7 of Unleashed

Trevor angles a brow. “Are you sure they weren’t just trying to stroke your ego?”

“I think my ego was the last thing they were thinking about stroking.” I twist in his arms, fighting the grip he has on me until we’re face-to-face. “Are we doing this or not? Because I have somewhere to be.”

I can afford a very limited number of babysitting hours each month, and do my best to spend them wisely. Most of them go toward girls’ night, and the rest I save up for special occasions. Like today.

But that budget is tight, and the clock is running down.

Trevor’s eyes narrow on my face. “Somewhere more important than your best friend’s wedding?”

“Yes.” I don’t even have to consider it. Zara is my priority. Has been since the day she unexpectedly took over my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would Brooke. She’s one of the few people who knows the full story of how Zara came into my life. There’s no tighter friendship than one forged on swapping childhood trauma stories. “So you can either get your dick out, or I’m leaving.”

I don’t mind being vocal when it comes to sex. My time is hella limited. I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it on something that doesn’t serve me. And, generally speaking, I haven’t found men to be particularly skilled at serving me without direction. Luckily, I don’t mind bossing people around.

Specifically penis-possessing people.

Trevor holds my eyes as he straightens, gaze intense as both hands go to the waistband of his pants. In one smooth action, he flicks the buckle of his belt open and slides the entire thing free, the end giving a little snap against the air as it flicks loose.

And somehow I feel that little snap in my clit.

My eyes lock onto his long fingers as they open the button and lower the zipper of his fly before shoving everything down. The thick weight of his cock bobs free, pointing straight at me like it’s making a request. Or possibly an accusation.

Unsurprisingly, his dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. Well proportioned, with smooth, satiny looking skin, and a hint of a curve that probably hits just the right spot.

I’m about to find out.

“Well?” Trevor lifts his brows at me.

I scoff. “I’m not gonna bask in its glory, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I appreciate that you find my dick glorious, but he can’t do this job all by himself.” Trevor tips his head at the hem of my dress. “Skirt up, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes, because he’s so fucking cocky. There better be a reason for it, or I’m going to be pissed. Grabbing my dress, I spin away, dragging it up to my waist before gripping the edge of the vanity and presenting him with my ass. “Do your worst.”

Trevor looks at my ass, then lifts his eyes to meet mine in the mirror. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Before I can even begin cussing him out for acting so goddamn unimpressed, my whole body is off the ground and turned midair. The ass I just so graciously displayed hits the counter of the vanity as we come face-to-face.

And cock to pussy.

“If you want me to fuck you like that, you’ll have to bring a stool next time.” He shucks his button up then drags the hem of his undershirt halfway up his torso. “Because I’m not squatting for twenty minutes.”

“I think twenty minutes is being awfully generous.” I grip his shoulders as he drags my body closer to the edge.

“What can I say? I’m a generous guy.” Trevor sinks into me with no warning or preamble.

Which is more than fine, because I don’t have time for preamble.

His eyes fuse to my face as he bottoms out, like he’s scrutinizing my expression for a specific reaction. Probably for judgment. But I don’t care. Not as long as he gets me off and scratches the itch that’s been plaguing me for months.

Unfortunately, there’s not much of a reaction to have, because it’s a pretty basic thrust. I swear to God if he is the sort of guy who just goes to pound town until he nuts, I’m going to strangle him to death with a curling iron cord.

Trevor’s eyes narrow as he changes the trajectory of his next attempt. Again he watches me like a hawk.

And again, I’m underwhelmed.

“How the fuck does Tucker do this shit?” The mumbled words are still coming out of his lips as one arm bands across my back, hauling me off the counter like I weigh nothing as he spins to the wall opposite the vanity. My back presses to the drywall, the positioning putting us eye to eye as he grips my thighs, using the hold to keep me suspended.

The next time he moves, I suck in a sharp breath. Now, instead of just poking at me while I try to maintain my balance teetering on the edge of the sink, his whole pelvis grinds against me as his hips pivot instead of push. And holy fuck balls does it change everything.