Wild Dirty Secret(113)

“It’s okay, Shelly. You can let go.” He knew the effect he had on me. “I’m here with you. I’ll do anything to be with you.”





Chapter Nineteen





I felt myself clench at his words. He said it to me every day, reminding me that he didn’t just want me for my body, for what pleasure I could bring him. I was trying, but it was hard to believe. It was hard to remember. He understood that too.

“That’s right,” he murmured as my hips began to rock into his hand. “More.”

“Ahh.” I let out a small cry as pain shot up my leg.

He stilled. “What’s wrong?”

“My leg. Sorry. It’s brushing against the sheet.”

He pulled the sheet off, then gently placed my leg over his. This way nothing could accidentally brush against the wound. The position also left me completely exposed, cool air wafting against my sensitive clit. I shuddered from the chill.

“Shh,” he soothed, his hand reaching for me, fingers pushing inside. I shuddered again, this time from pleasure.

Held open by him, probed by him, I felt vulnerable. It was bittersweet, the lingering sense of shame tainting the overwhelming pleasure. I whimpered.

“I know,” he said, and the most incredible thing was, he did. He knew what it felt like to be afraid to let anyone close. He knew what it felt like to be used. “Just tell me if you want to stop, and I will. I won’t be mad.”

I relaxed into his hold, leaning my head back. His mouth found the skin behind my ear, nibbling down to my neck. I pushed my hips into his hand, practically riding him as I sought my release.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Do it. Use me.”

My whole body tightened, squeezing his fingers and bucking against his palm. I couldn’t find the peak. I could just push and writhe and plead with tiny moans, reach until I felt wrung out and stretched taut.

“Shelly.” He sounded lost when he said my name like that.

I realized that my body was pushing back into his, that my ass was rubbing his cock, and he was probably about to come inside his jeans. That’s what pushed me over, the thought of him spurting that way, making a mess of himself because he couldn’t hold it back. With a cry, I came, grinding down onto his hand, bucking in his arms. He groaned, sucking at my neck as my body released liquid onto his hand. His fingers stilled as the last of the orgasm ran through me.

With a small sigh of contentment, I settled back. He jerked against me.

I smiled without opening my eyes. “So you didn’t come in your jeans.”

He laughed, a short, rough sound of strain. “No. It was close.”

I pressed the curve of my ass against his erection, and he groaned. “Almost there,” I said.

“Is that what you want?” he murmured. “Does it turn you on?”

“Yes,” I said, strangled, and he chuckled hoarsely.

He pushed against me, once, tentative.

“Again,” I whispered.

He held my hip this time, and just like that, his hand keeping my body steady for him to rub his cock against me made my arousal burn hot.

“Again, again.”

He wasn’t just pushing into me but pulling me back onto his body. His hands scrabbled for a better grip, as if he could get closer, as if he could pull me inside him and merge with me through the denim.

His groan was low and tortured and selfish—a man desperate for his release. Like every other time, I was a sex object being used purely for my partner’s gratification. But this was different, because I was hot instead of cold, slick with arousal instead of slippery with lube. I was with Luke.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted.

I smiled.

His movements grew jerky. I knew he was close, but I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to go with him.

“Wait,” I said, turning slightly. “Can you… Can we…?”

If I had seen his face first, I wouldn’t have stopped him. It was all hollows and tension, want and arousal. It looked like pain and felt like it too in the brusque way he turned me onto my back, in the grip as he spread my thighs.

“Your leg,” he ground out.

“Fine,” I gasped. I had no fucking idea, though. I couldn’t feel anything but the ache in my cunt and the abrasive rasp of his denim and then the hard, painful press of his length against my clit. His body sank down onto mine. Without break, without reprieve, he began a hard-and-fast rhythm of bringing himself off, dragging me along. I reveled in his roughness, such a stark contrast to the gentleness he usually showed me—it was need. And it was trust, for now I understood that it was as hard for him to believe in the intimacy between us as it had been for me. My body sparked with a heightened arousal, but my heart warmed with tenderness.