Page 113 of Problematic

He lubed up the toy, then crooked two fingers at me. I stepped into the space between his knees, and he lifted my shirt up over my head, leaving me naked in front of him.

My body still had traces of his blood smeared all over. “Maybe I should shower first.”

He stiffened. “Olivia Heart, get over here and ride my leg before you actually make me go insane.” He huffed out an angry sound and continued. “I just spent four days in enemy territory unable to think about anything except how fucking wet you get for me.” His fingers tightened on the couch cushion. “Do not ask me to wait while you wash my blood off your skin.”

Yep, I would let this man do absolutely deplorable shit to me.

His hands found my bare hips and guided me down onto the toy. He sat back against the sofa and guided my hips into a rocking motion on his leg, grinding my clit against the ridges of the silicone.

My head tipped back, and he reached up with one hand to tug the band holding my hair. Loose curls fell over my shoulders and down my back. His fingers slid into them for one brief second before letting go, like touching more of me might undo him.

My tits bounced as I rode his leg, and he leaned forward painfully. I felt his ribs lock beneath me, felt the sharp breath he tried to swallow. I started to pull back, but his hand clamped at my hip as he took my nipple into his mouth, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“You are such an idiot.”

“Ride.”

The command hit me hard enough to empty my head.

I obeyed.

His mouth worked over my breast, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp and tongue soothing after, like he had any right to be sweet with blood under his bandages. My rhythm broke, then found itself again, faster now, needier, my clit grinding against the ridges until pleasure built fast and mean.

With one hand he reached down, unzipping his pants. He freed his cock, thick and hard in his fist, already glistening with precum.

He looked too big, too much for the version of me that had spent years reading about men like him safely on paper.

He stroked his length once, and I barely held back a moan. Then, he picked up the massager and slotted it into the toy.

His grip locked on my hip, holding me in place as vibration tore through the silicone and into my clit. Pleasure punched through me so fast I almost climbed off him to save myself.

He didn’t let me.

“Stay,” he growled, breath ragged.

“I’m going to come.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean right now.”

His mouth curved. “Good.”

The vibration deepened. My hips moved on instinct, grinding harder, chasing the pressure until my thoughts scattered across the room. His hand worked over himself, rough and slow, and the sight of him watching me while he touched himself dragged me closer to the cliff.

The toy hummed against me, merciless.

He leaned in, careful of his ribs this time, mouth brushing my ear through the mask’s cruel shadow.

“Come for me, Little Flower.”

I broke.

My orgasm tore through me, hot and humiliating, my body clenching against the toy while I clung to him and buried my face against his neck like that would somehow make this less insane.

I thought this would help. I thought coming would ease the tension in my body, the heat, the unbearable need for him I couldn’t seem to escape.

NOPE. I needed him. Right now. Injuries be damned.