“Let’s get out of here,” I say, and I feel him stiffen in surprise. To drive my point across, I place a hand on his knee, pulling away as I bite my lower lip. “I’m craving something with chocolate for dessert, and we don’t have anything like that in this house.”
“Y—yeah,” he stutters, looking at Hans.
I sneak a peek at Blake, and he’s red with fury. But why? He says he can’t have me, so why does he care if someone else does?
“We should go to that bar near the river,” Felicity squeaks. “The one that has chocolate martinis!”
I nod vigorously. “Let’s do it.” I look at Anders and give him my best bedroom eyes, and he places an arm around my chair.
Blake shoots up from his seat. “I’m getting a beer,” he growls, nearly kicking the kitchen door open.
Felicity and Hans are whispering something, and Anders looks at me expectantly. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me as I stare at myself in the mirror. What the hell am I doing? I should probably be excited about the attention Anders is giving me. After all, how many times can someone say they’re being pursued by a cute, tall, German guy in one of the most gorgeous cities in the world? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity we’re talking about.
So why can’t I stop thinking about Blake?
I use the toilet and wash my hands. Then I waste time looking at myself for a few more minutes, fixing my hair, reapplying my nude lipstick, and trying and failing to stop thinking about Mr. Cooper, and how it felt to kiss him last night. My hands find my throat as I close my eyes, and when the door slams open a second later, I nearly levitate in shock.
Blake is standing there, looking possessed—his eyes dark, his fists clenched. He’s breathing heavily, like the internal battle he was fighting earlier is raging right below the surface.
“Blake?” I ask, my voice unsure.
“They all went to the bar down the street to wait for you,” he says slowly. “Anders asked me to ask you to join them.”
I study him, and the way he grits those words out like they’re sandpaper in his throat.
I cross my arms. “Okay. Thanks?” I try to move around him, but he doesn’t budge. When I look up at him, his expression is desperate—wild, yet hesitant. He seems so crazed, but he’s hiding it behind a mask of careful consideration. And it’s then that I realize he’s asking an unspoken question.
Are you going with him, or staying here with me?
He’s giving me the option to stay.
With him.
I swallow, observing the way his chest is rising and falling. I can smell him, mixed with the lavender of the hand soap I used a few minutes ago. The apartment is quiet now, and I can hear us both breathing.
I swear, I can hear my pulse pounding between my legs.
“I should probably go,” I whisper, also mindful of the slippery slope opening before us like a giant cavern.
He was right earlier. We shouldn’t go there—shouldn’t give in. It doesn’t matter how badly I want him, nor how bad he wants me. It’s wrong. I am stronger than a mere physical whim—a whim that’s all consuming, that makes my whole body tingle, that fills my senses with the scent of his skin…
I push past him, gasping when my hip brushes against the bulge in his pants, and then it’s like something beastly awakens inside of me, and I can’t think of anything else. I need to feel him. It’s no longer a whim. It’s something potent, and heady, and animalistic.
I twist and press my body against his as I reach up and grab the back of his head. Our lips crash together, and we both moan at the same time. He scoops one of my ass cheeks up, lifting me slightly so that he can grind into me, and holy fuck, I wish he’d stop doing that—
No, I don’t.
I tilt my head back as his lips find my neck. “Keep going,” I rasp.
He presses me against the door, hard enough that I hear the hinge crack, and I moan out loud as I feel his other hand slide up my thighs.
“Did you like it when Anders put his hand on your leg?” he snarls, his voice ripe with possession and jealousy as it feathers against the skin of my neck. My whole body trembles.
I smile. “Maybe.”
Blake growls, and then I hear a rip. Gasping, I look down, realizing he’s ripped a hole in my tights.
“These are getting in the way,” he says roughly, hoisting me up so that my legs are straddling his waist. “You deserve to be fucked properly,” he mutters, breathing into my mouth as I fumble with his belt buckle. “By a man. Not a boy like him.”
I moan and arch my back, pressing my taut nipples against his chest. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, practically roaring with pleasure when I free his hard shaft.
“Fuck, Wren,” he says, his voice ragged and uneven. Growling when he realizes I’m not wearing undies, he presses his thick head against my opening, and I feel like I’m on fire. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, panting. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s completely unraveled—completely undone.
Because of me.
“I told you to keep going,” I say loud and clear. “Now fuck me, Mr. Cooper.”
Something savage takes over then, because his eyes go nearly black at my words, and he thrusts into me so that he fills me to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry out, whimpering as I wrap my arms around him.
His hands grip my ass cheeks firmly as he hisses, pulling all the way out before slamming into me again. With each slam, the old hinge on the door makes a cracking sound.
“Jesus, Wren,” he says quietly, his voice breaking when he says my name. “I’m going to shatter this door to pieces if I keep fucking you here.”
“I dare you,” I answer, moving my hips to meet every thrust.
“Fuck,” he grunts, driving into me as he pulls my hips impossibly closer, spreading my legs impossibly wider, so that he can go as deep as he possibly can.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I grip the top of the door for leverage. I feel my legs shake as his lips find my ear, sending electric currents shooting down my spine, the pressure building between my legs with such intensity, I can’t even cry out. The head of his cock is hitting the perfect spot. He pins me against the door roughly, and I hear it crack as one of his hands comes between my legs, swirling the wetness around my clit and pressing down firmly.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Open your eyes, Wren. I want to see your face when you come on my cock.”
I open them, watching him as his eyes bore into mine. His mouth is slightly open, his tongue pressing against his cheek, his dark brows furrowed in concentration. I grip onto his shirt, pulling him up and into me with each thrust, trying to match his tempo.
His thumb on my nub doesn’t move, but the way he presses down and lets our movements become the friction…
“I’m coming,” I cry out, feeling myself grip his hard length with each wave. My legs tremble around him, and he has to use both hands to hold me up now as he spills into me, too. I watch as his cock pulses inside of me, as his eyes find mine with such fiery intensity, that I go over the edge again at the thought of fucking him bare like this—of him claiming me like this, as his own.