“So…fucking…wet.” She coated him from root to tip, and he could feel her wetness trickling over his balls. It still wasn’t enough. Farther and farther he drove home, shocked to feel her softening to take more of him, as if his body only had to make the demand and she responded.
Her cries rose, a sterling invitation for him to band his arm around her waist and haul her back into his strokes. Her nails scraped over the countertop from his endless onslaught, but he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Her tits bounced against his arm, and her pussy squeezed him so tight his lungs burned. He whisked his thumb over her swollen clit, and she went off, saturating his cock with an orgasm that doubled her over and seemed to have no end.
He groaned and lurched into her, grinding deep, extending her contractions. His balls crawled toward his spine, aching for a respite. But there was only her sweet body yielding to him, her pretty, dirty mouth begging for his dick to fill her up.
The tension inside him snapped, and he shouted, lost to her even as he spent himself inside her depths. He didn’t stop thrusting even through his climax, using his hold on her ass to drive her up and down. She whimpered softly, brokenly. And he continued on, consumed with his own release and what she’d given him.
Then she let out a sob, and he went still.
He stared at her, shocked immobile. His gaze drifted to the handprints on her ass and the bruises that suddenly stood out in sharp relief on her back. They were fading, yes, and what he’d done to her had been about pleasure, not pain. But the two could mix.
Even knowing that, he’d pushed her into doing what he commanded. Some of the time he definitely hadn’t been in full possession of his faculties. What if he’d hurt her?
If she’d said no, would he have been able to stop?
Had she said no, and he somehow hadn’t heard her? Was that why she was crying?
Coils of panic twisted in his gut, and he jerked back. He wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, to tell her he was sorry if he’d gone too far, but his throat muscles wouldn’t work.
As she straightened and turned, letting out a trembling breath, he gazed down at his hands. Dear God, had he become his stepfather after all?
When he chanced another glance at her, he had to swallow hard. Tear tracks wended their way down her pale face, and she wiped them away, laughing weakly. “I get like this sometimes,” she began, falling silent at his expression.
Or at least that was what he assumed stopped her cold. If his current mental state was obvious to her, he could only imagine what he looked like.
His shoulders ached from the effort it took not to cradle her against him. He needed to talk her through this. Talk them through it. He’d obviously pushed her over the line, and he had to ensure she was all right. The last thing he’d wanted to do was to hurt her, and he’d done exactly that.
Haze of passion or not, he’d known better. They hadn’t set firm limits, and he’d just blasted clear through his own anyway.
Why couldn’t he fucking speak?
She pursed her lips and drew herself up to her full height. She was so petite, so delicate, and he’d deeply reddened her flesh. He’d hurt her. Sensual pain was still pain, wasn’t it?
For a few blissed-out moments he’d forgotten anything other than her acceptance. Than her longing for the same thing he craved. Together they’d shoved past their own limits.
Except it was too soon. She’d been injured a couple of days ago. Occasionally he still saw her limping. And she’d just left a long-term relationship. Neither of them were in the place for something so intense right out of the damn gate.
God, if he could be so rough with someone he cared about as much as he did Kylie, what might he do to someone he didn’t?
Like her ex?
“Justin?” she whispered.
Apologies hesitated on his tongue. Pleas. Saying them would only hasten her retreat and deepen his own remorse. She wouldn’t stay with him, not when he couldn’t look her in the eye.
Better all around that he just shut down and make it easier for her to go. Then he’d figure out how to get his shit together.
Far away from Kylie.
He pushed a shaking hand through his hair and turned unseeing eyes toward the doorway. “I have a call to make.”
Before she could ask him to come back, he walked out of the kitchen.
Seven
Kylie wanted to chase after him. In fact, she’d started to do just that when she realized she only had his apron to wear since her clothes were in the living room. Somehow she didn’t figure that was the appropriate outfit for a conversation like this.
Whatever it was.
She wasn’t sure what had happened at the end of their lovemaking, but something had gone wrong. She’d gotten teary, yes, but that happened sometimes when she came. It was probably clichéd, and maybe a little weird too, but she couldn’t help the emotions a strong climax brought up inside her.
Besides, if she were really being honest, she hadn’t simply teared up because she’d come so freaking hard she’d almost burst a blood vessel. The true reason had a lot more to do with the man who’d been inside her than the physical responses he’d coaxed from her body.
It was too soon for her to feel so emotionally on edge around him, wasn’t it? She shouldn’t feel as if she were on a tightrope and a hasty step in either direction would send her plummeting.
With as long as they’d been friends, she should not be falling this fast.
She definitely hadn’t the first time around. And as much as she’d like to credit his tongue ring and hot tat and sexual kinks, she knew it was much more than that. She was…ready for Justin.
Not just physically. Spiritually. Mentally.
But psychologically? That was the sticking point. She’d just gotten out of a troubled relationship. If she hoped to have a more stable one with Justin, she couldn’t just go bopping into it. Especially not considering everything he had in his past. He had his own issues, and ignoring them now would probably cause them a hell of a lot of pain later. She’d kinda filled up her quotient of pain for a while.
But that didn’t mean she knew what to do next.
At a loss, she sat at the table. The pizza would be done soon, and then maybe over dinner they could—
He strode into the room, fully dressed. He went straight to the table by the back door and snatched his keys, then cast her a distracted glance as if he’d forgotten she was still there. “I need to go out for a while.”
“But dinner’s almost ready.” She heard the whine in her voice, and she hated it.
Look at them. So not a couple and already she was falling into the traditional harpy role. Lovely.
“You eat it. I have to take care of something, and it won’t wait.” He ran his scarf through his hands, his brows drawing more together the longer he stared at her. “Kylie, I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay.”
“Huh?”
“It’s your option, of course. I know your…housing situation is problematic, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. But I don’t expect it after—” He broke off and jingled his keys. “Look, I gotta go.”
She stood unsteadily and walked over to the oven to turn off the pizza. It hadn’t dinged yet, but she sure wasn’t going to stay there alone while he charged off to do who knows what. “Wherever you need to go, I’m coming with you.”