Love the Way You Lie(34)

Of course, I’m not innocent. And I’m not really sure I like him.

“Don’t stop,” I say.

That earns me a slight smile. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He runs his fingers through the wetness there, but without purpose, without the speed I’d need to get off. He’s just feeling me, exploring me, the same way he did my breasts. My legs are already parted enough to give him access, but without planning it, my knees fall apart. It’s an invitation, and he doesn’t miss a beat, pushing deeper. But still with lazy strokes.

Not enough. A whimper escapes me.

And it sounds like acceptance. It must be acceptance, because he pushes up and slings a leg over my chest. He pulls off his shirt, and I can see his chest in full glory, broad and strong, covered in tribal tattoos and scars. He’s dangerous. He’s primal.

For tonight he’s mine.

Then he’s undoing his jeans, pulling out his cock. He presses the tip to my lips—without foreplay or finesse. His body blocks the moonlight. The only thing I can see is the shadow of him. The only thing I can smell is the musk of his precum.

He paints my lips with the salty liquid, the same way he used my wetness to dampen my nipples. But this time he isn’t the one cleaning it off. This time it’s me licking my lips, tasting him for the first time.

He tastes like danger and pleasure, like risk and reward.

“Open for me,” he groans.

I open my lips, letting him inside, almost grateful, relishing the way his whole body stiffens. I breathe him in, the salty scent of his cock, already smelling of me and him—as if we’ve had sex. He stares down at me as I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, and I don’t look away.

There are rules, about looking him in the eye. About using a condom, even for this.

But I’m breaking them. My tongue and my lips and even the edge of my teeth work to give him pleasure, pushing faster and harder than I’ve ever done before—not because I want it to end, but because I know it will. And when this is over, I want him to remember me.

Foolish. Reckless. I don’t care. Right now I want that as much as survival—more.

He grunts and finds a rhythm, and I match my sucking to him, opening my throat to let him in deeper, using my sucks and my tongue in tandem to push him over the edge. Just like he pushed me. It’s a double-edged sword between us, but right now he’s the one being cut. He’s the one shuddering, groaning, almost humping the floor as he fucks my mouth.

A lock of my hair falls into my face, jerked by the rough motion of his body and mine. He reaches down…and carefully smooths the lock from my forehead. Even though I’m lying on a leather jacket, arms pinned by my sides, getting fucked, being used—the touch is almost tender.

“Christ,” he gasps, and then warm come fills my mouth.

I swallow it quickly, only to find more spurting from the tip. He has so much come, as if he hasn’t climaxed in forever, like he’s been saving it all for me. I swallow again and again, until only the faint salty flavor of him remains, and he pulls away.

He runs his thumb down my cheek, then lower, wiping away a drop of his come from the corner of my lips. “Thank you,” he says.

I let him tuck the blanket around me, warming me up. Only then do I realize I’m cold. Freezing. I’m still shivering, until he slips under with me, wrapping his strong arms around me. “Shh,” he soothes.

“I didn’t say anything,” I say.

I feel his smile. “I heard you anyway, Honey. I always do. You don’t even have to say anything. You just have to feel, and I can hear it like a goddamn church bell.”

“And you’re a religious man?” I ask, smiling sleepily.

“No, never. But you make me want to be. I want to worship you.”

His cock is already half-erect against my leg. He follows through on his promise, worshipping me with his lips and tongue and fingers until I writhe on that roof, until I open my mouth and choke out incoherent words, pleading, crying, needing, while the heavy moon looks on with satisfaction.

His cock spreads me wide, filling me until I can only rock my hips up, riding the edge.

He grunts on every thrust, a primal sound that spurs me on. His breath is hot against my skin. His hips spreading my legs wide. I’m completely invaded by him, taken over, wanting more.

“Please, please, please,” I beg, shameless, free of the shackles I wear below this roof, onstage.

But it’s too much. I’m too loud. Especially when he moves to hit a different spot inside me. I moan, and his hand comes up to cover my mouth. That is what pushes me over—the rough feel of his palm on my lips, being quieted by him, controlled. I come in a burst of color and sound, sensation rolling over me, making me clench around his cock as it pulses with come.