The sound of his zipper echoes in my ears, and I whimper.
Why can’t I fight this? I can’t stop my hands from reaching between us, fumbling over his in my urgency to pull him out.
He fits his cock at my entrance and looks me in the eyes. A swallow sticks in the back of my throat, and I grip his shoulders, trembling, panting. Please.
He thrusts, and we groan together, trembling as one in our relief. Burying himself as deeply as possible, he stretches me, fills me up, and makes me burn.
Then he fucks me, grunting like a feral caveman and hissing past clenched teeth. He’s a hurricane of fury and aggression, slamming his cock rapidly, violently, and punishing my mouth with deep bruising kisses.
God help me, I forgot what this feels like, the exquisite sensation of being taken, dominated, and fucked into mindless oblivion. It’s been three years. Three of the longest years of my life, and what a way to break the fast.
In that stunned moment, my mind blocks out how I got here, too absorbed by the cock stroking inside me, the tongue in my mouth, and the hands sweeping over my body. We’re longing and lust, sweat and muscle, skin on skin, two beasts in a mating dance, panting, clawing at clothes, and stabbing nails into flesh.
I rip open his shirt, pinging buttons across the floor. With a labored grunt, he tears it off his arms and flings it. There’s an undershirt beneath, baring bulges of biceps and pumped veins over muscle. I want to see more of him, but he attacks my dress, pounds his hips, and tears my strapless bodice down the center.
Breathing heavily and gnashing his teeth, he ravages my breast. His lips are firm and forceful, sucking my skin and leaving his mark. Then he starts to bite. Hard.
Panic rises, shattering my hungry trance. I shove his mouth from my nipple and thrash beneath him.
His eyes flash to mine, and he growls a low, combative noise.
“So damn feisty.” His thrusts quicken, hammering with urgency. “God, yes… Yes…” He doesn’t look away, his moans gravelly and hoarse. “You feel unbelievable. Fucking heaven.”
It shouldn’t feel this good. I should be repulsed and fighting him off. He fucking spanked me! How did I let this happen?
I grip his ass to stop his movements, but the muscles flex harder against my palms with each drive of his hips.
He’s a frenzy of testosterone, pounding into me like a lust-fueled piston. His eyes never leave mine, watching me, worshiping me with that ice-blue stare as his long fingers slide between us and clamp onto my clit.
My spine arches off the floor, and my legs shake against a flood of intoxicating pleasure.
“That’s it.” He circles and rubs my bundle of nerves, spiraling me toward the crest. “You’re going to come now.”
His other hand wraps around my throat, and that does it. The heart-pounding pressure against my airway ignites fireworks across my vision and shoves me into a climax so explosive I feel like I’m shattering into a million pieces.
“There’s my girl.” His thrusts lose rhythm, jerking and deepening. “Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My head falls back as I catch my breath, panting and moaning beneath the erratic stab of his hips. His hand slides from my throat to my face and pulls my mouth to his. Then he kisses me.
This kiss is different, lacking the usual hostility. It’s affectionate and tender, full of soul-stirring languish. I melt against his lips, feeding, sipping, falling into the gentle slide, the roaming strokes, and the ecstasy of love.
I love him, but I don’t forgive him. And as he comes, I see it all in his eyes—his pain and pleasure, remorse and devotion, heartache and passion. He said he loves me, too, but he ruined it.
“Danni.” He chokes, groaning deeply, gutturally, his entire body shaking as he grinds against me and pants through his release.
As he comes down, his forehead drops to mine, and he holds me, nuzzles my neck, his hands caressing my face.
The urge to curl in on myself shakes my shoulders. What have I done? What am I going to do now? I can’t be with him. I can’t love him.
When he lifts his head, his expression’s dazed, shocked, like he can’t believe he’s here, that he did this, with me.
He looks spooked.
My chest clenches as he pulls out and tucks himself away. I never saw his cock. He didn’t even take off his slacks, and now he’s avoiding my eyes.
“Trace?” I pull the ruined dress around my nudity, reaching for something, anything to say. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t…” Can’t be alone right now. “We should talk.”
With his back to me, he collects his clothes from the floor. Then he stands there, facing away. No chin raised in victory. No whispered apologies. Just a distant man, sullied with the come of two women. And, in the dissonance of my breaking heart, his silence.