Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(103)

I have my doubts. But the hot waft of Cain’s breath against my neck makes me shiver, and so does the sensation from his finger tapping my ass. My hands clench on the porcelain sink.

“Sloooow,” he says, his voice imitating the meaning of the word. “Slow and easy, and then, once you’re used to it, hard and fast until you won’t even be able to remember your own name. You want that, right? You want me fucking your little ass so hard.” His finger pushes a little harder, but he still doesn’t try to get inside.

And then I hear myself say, “Okay,” and I wonder what in the world Cain McAllister has done to me. Some kind of witchery. A spell. I don’t think there’s anything he could ask of me that I would say no to. Not now. Certainly not regarding sex. My body’s his. All of it.

He gives me another slap on the ass, this one a bit softer than the previous ones. He opens the medicine cabinet.

I just stand there waiting for him. My pussy feels thoroughly used from his fingers in it before, and it also feels like it wants more. As much as it can get. Everything.

I hear rustling. He’s taking his clothes off, I can tell. I look up into the mirror again just as he shucks off his shirt. The tats on his chest and arms are bright in the light of the bathroom. He reaches for his jeans. They’re unzipped and open, but not off him yet. He pushes them off along with his underwear and I let my gaze drag down his body, over that tight, cobbled abdomen, the line of hair that wanders down the middle of it, widening to a triangle-shaped nest around his hard, bobbing cock.

“Like what you see?” he asks me, smirking. He strikes a little pose. He’s got a tube in his hand—lube, I realize and shiver a little. He’s really going to do it.

“I have to say that, yes, I do believe I do.” I try to sound offhand, flip, but my stomach is doing somersaults. I’m having a hard time separating excitement from anxiety. I look at the tube of lube again and swallow.

He sees what I’m doing and holds the lube out, displaying it like he’s on a game show. “This is the secret to everything,” he tells me. “Now, I want you to watch us in the mirror. Spread your legs.” His voice is quiet but brooks no argument. I do exactly what he says.

And I wait.

Not long though. A moment later his chest is against my back and he’s kissing my shoulders, using his teeth on me again, biting along the expanse of my back, and nipping my nape. I lock my eyes to my own reflection, watching his head move as he helps himself to me. His hand touches me, cool and slick with lube, and a finger slips inside.

I jump a little. It’s more from the chilliness of the lube, though, than from the still only slight penetration. It’s tight and feels a little strange, but I’m okay with it. He pushes in a bit deeper, and then slides out, then back in. Slow, easy, like he said.

“There,” he murmurs against the back of my neck. “See? Not so bad, right?”

I have to nod, because he’s right. Not only is it not so bad, I’m realizing I like it. There’s a deep, burning sensation that’s nothing like having his fingers in my pussy. What will his dick feel like in there? I start to cream up just thinking about it. In the mirror, I see my cheeks flushing darker again, my pupils widening.

“There we go.” His words are still soft, encouraging, but his hand moves a little faster, the movement a little rougher, and he bites at my shoulders again. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I can see he’s smiling a little. He keeps riding that line, holding me on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, making sure that when I fall, I always land on the side of pleasure. I can trust him with this, too, can’t I?

Whether I can or not, I’m going to. I have no choice at this point. He’s drawn me into a dark, deep spiral of need, of want, and I’ve reached a point where I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember how to breathe if I don’t have his hands on me, his fingers inside me. His cock.

He adds another finger, pressing deep, and I gasp again at the moment of stretching pain as my body adjusts. No, not really pain. Pressure. A raw, dark feeling of being utterly possessed. Redness starts to blink into my vision, then black. He starts to thrust with his fingers. I ride with it, and when he finally withdraws, I can’t help a soft noise of protest.

“Shhh,” he says, and then he reaches around me and clasps both of my breasts in his hands as he presses his cock inside me.

There’s a split second where I wish I hadn’t said okay. It’s a spear of near-pain, and I choke a little on a cry, but then he’s in, then in deeper, and then he’s thrusting and I do cry out, but it’s for an entirely different reason.