Page 29 of He Has Pluck

“What makes you think you’re welcome in my bed tonight?”

Instead of saying a word, he reaches and grabs the blanket, pulling it off me with one sweep, baring me. Then he breathes deep, breathing in my scent because even I can smell my own sex, that tell-tale perfume that seeps from the secrets deep inside me, honest and without any agenda or concern.

“You want me. Same as I fucking want you.” He looks down at me, not making a move, just shaking his head, forming a twist of his mouth that can’t be called a smile. “Strike that. I don’t want you. It’s past want, because you’re the last thing I want. I own you. You’re mine.”

“You have it all wrong, Hockey Boy. You’re all mine.” I reach out and grip his cock. He lets me because if he didn’t want me to, he’s quick enough to get out of the way.

“This is sick,” he says. “You’re no good for me. You’re like crack.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?” I laugh, stroking him, then moving in to lick, drawing in his scent, drinking in his groan of pleasure as I suck his tip into my mouth. His hands caress my shoulders then move up to my head, gentle and just shaky enough to make my heart pound, make my pussy clench and quiver and spill over.

I take one hand away from him, and kneeling, I reach between my legs as I suck on him madly, up and down, holding on tight and finding my slick clit with my fingers, pressing and stroking.

The growl that comes from him startles me, and he grips my shoulders, pulling me off him and tossing me backwards on the pillows and messy blankets. He climbs on the bed and settles between my legs, spreading them with his hands wider than is comfortable, but that only makes the pulsing excitement more frantic as I stare at him, at his cock jumping and straining in my direction.

He grips himself with one hand and slides it up and down. My hips rise, and my back arches in reflexive response.

“See how you like it if I pleasure myself in front of you, if I steal the orgasm from your mouth—”

“I want it.” I slide my hand between my legs, and he lets me get there, lets me touch the hard quivering marble that is the center of my universe right now. Then he snatches my hand away. With both of his hands, he raises both of mine above my head and lowers himself over me, his face a breath from mine.

“No more foreplay, Ice Chip.”

I gulp. I should shriek at him, should tell him he’s not calling the shots, that I want to be in control, what I say goes, but I don’t. All the words and thoughts are jumbled into a knot of emotion clogging my throat, making me mute as my entire body pulses with need for him. My skin crawls with the need for his touch.

My head nods. Because I agree with him. I want his cock inside me, damn him.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask. Because I don’t.

“No.” He lets go of my wrists and kneels straight up, looking like a statue of an ancient Greek god as he swipes his hands over his face as if in agony, as if the world was coming to an end. And it is. Our world. The here and now of our obsessive need.

“Fuck.” His voice is quiet and all the more powerful.

I sit up and kiss the tip of his cock and revel in the shudder that goes through him, revel at the gentle caress of his hands on my head, his fingers playing through my hair as I kiss and play with his tip. One last lick and there’s no way I’m letting him go, not without feeling him inside me and I don’t mean my mouth.

Lifting my head from him, I take his hands, pull him down on top of me and roll over on top of him. When I’m straddling his hips with his cock between my legs but not inside me, deliciously sandwiched there and squirming, I smile at him.

“This is a bad idea—”

“Relax, I’m covered. I have an IUD.” He studies me, considering all the implications, and I can practically see his mind racing around to the ultimate question. Do I trust that she’s disease free, or don’t I?

“If I can trust you, you can trust me,” I say.

“I don’t trust you,” he says. Then he lifts my hips and plants me on his cock in one sure swift motion until he’s so deep inside, stretching me wide and hitting my wall, that I moan loud and long with the sheer agonizing pleasure and satisfaction. The sensation of him, his satin hard and seething cock filling every space, touching and moving inside me spreads through every cell of my being like an electric charge.

His hands are planted on my hips, and he moves me, lifting me up ever so slowly, and I shudder, partly shocked at the ease and sheer strength of him. He moves his hips up to meet mine as he lowers me, and my insides melt another ten degrees.

I take over, moving myself and leaning forward over him, he accepts the invitation to move his hands to my breasts, lifting them, kneading them and caressing them and pressing them together.

“You are so fucking sexy. Do you know how sexy you are?” His words are strained, and the sound jolts me, raises my temperature to nearly boiling. The world is fuzzy as all the nerve endings in my pussy take over. He thrusts his hips up inside me, and I slam down on him hard. My moan matches his groan. He breathes heavy and loud as we move faster, and he moves his hands back to my hips.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he asks in that sex-strained voice, the kind of sound that barely makes it from his mouth, where you can hear the edge, feel the pressure of the impending explosion in the struggle of his words to escape.

I can’t possibly answer him as my movement becomes frantic, up and down, out of control, and when he unexpectedly moves his thumb to that nonexistent space between his pelvis and my pussy to find my clit and circle it, then presses it as he stares at my face riveted, I lose it.

The world goes black for a minute as if my eyes close, and I see a universe of stars. Except my eyes are open, and I clench against the excruciating pleasure, squeezing everything from me and from him.

Chapter Eight