His voice was dark and rough, filling my ear. “Only I’m allowed to touch you.”
I gasped as his hand moved, sliding over my hip and down until he found the slit in my skirt and slipped through it. He unapologetically stroked his fingers over the crotch of the white panties I’d worn for him, making me shudder.
My hands moved mindlessly, pushing inside his jacket, sliding over his shirt and beneath the braces he always wore with his tuxedo. Because he was old-fashioned and classic and sexy as fuck. But he wasn’t a gentleman right now with his harsh hand up my skirt as he rubbed me through my underwear, and I loved it. Blood roared in my ears so loudly, I had to focus on what he was saying.
“This isn’t how I planned to do it.” His tone was seductive as his lips brushed over the shell of my ear. “It will be quick, Sophia. Probably too fast for you to achieve an orgasm, but you’ll enjoy it, and then you will come home with me and I’ll take the time to do it properly.”
His fingers worked their way down the front of my panties, finding my clit, and I moaned, clutching at him. Holy shit, it felt good. I slumped back against the corner, my eyes falling closed.
“I need release,” he whispered into my neck. “So, you will consider this a taste. It’s only a fraction of what I’m capable of.”
Lava flowed through me, melting my bones, flooding between my thighs. The desire increased exponentially when he took a knee in front of me, pulled down my panties so I could step out of them, and pocketed the lacy underwear.
I stared down at him in his perfect tuxedo, his silver-threaded hair, and piercing eyes, and tried not to pass out. Macalister on his knees, even if only for a moment, was such a huge turn-on. It was nearly fatal.
Not that I needed any more help getting turned on. Electricity shattered across my body and throbbed in my center as an insistent need.
He rose back to his full height, our gazes connected the whole way, and when he claimed my lips, I sighed and slipped my arms around his neck. His hands were between us at his waist, working quickly to undo the inside buttons that fastened the braces to his trousers.
It wasn’t until he had his pants undone that my lust-laden mind started to assemble the thought of what he intended.
I was so eager it came out in a squeak. “Are you going to fuck me?”
“Yes.” He flashed a look like I was interrupting him. “I just explained this.” But then his hurried movements slowed with hesitation. “You may tell me no.”
If I didn’t want something, he didn’t need to give me permission to say so, but I appreciated what he meant. Perhaps he was worried I was so far under his spell that I didn’t realize saying no was an option.
“Why the fuck would I say no?” I cried.
“Language,” he said, a little serious and a lot teasing, and resumed his task of getting his dick out while his mouth latched on to mine.
He was mostly hard, and with two rough jerks of his own fist, he was as ready as I was. Probably more—it hadn’t been three years since I’d had sex. But he moved with determination and restraint. Urgent but not desperate.
Macalister widened his stance to prevent his undone pants from slipping too far down his legs, and then his hands were in my skirt, pushing it up enough so the split parted and he had full access. The cool air brushed over my exposed, vulnerable skin, heightening anticipation.
He didn’t ask me to, but I picked one leg up and hooked it behind his back, and when the bare tip of him brushed against my piercing, we both exhaled in a rush. So close. Even just that light caress caused fireworks to shoot down my supporting leg, and I wobbled.
Fuck, was I going to be able to stand?
I tightened my arms around his neck, and one of his hands slid under my ass, helping to support me. The bottom half of his shirt had been unbuttoned and parted out of our way, and he ringed his fingers around the base of his cock, steadying as he lined himself up.
There was a long, suspended moment where neither of us moved. A final beat to consider what we were doing and recognize there was no going back after this. I couldn’t breathe as I stared up into his pale eyes. They seemed bottomless, endless. I could study them for a hundred years and still not learn every secret.
But we didn’t have a hundred years. He’d told me this taste had to be quick.
“Oh,” I gasped as he found the angle he needed and began to ease himself inside. My body was tight and not entirely prepared for something so large, but it felt uncomfortably good. I whimpered at his slow, metered intrusion, making a soft sound of pleasure mixed with surprise.
His jaw was straining, and it was clear he was holding himself back when he wanted to drive and take. Deeper he pushed, stretching inside, and I let out breath through clenched teeth. He was . . . a lot. More than I’d ever had, in every way possible.
“Shit, you’re huge,” I groaned, clenching a fist of his soft hair in one hand and the back of his jacket collar in the other.
Macalister gave a sound of satisfaction under his breath. He’d liked hearing that, and it wasn’t bullshit. He was splitting me down the middle as he impaled me, advancing relentlessly until we were connected in the most basic way.
He held still and let me adjust to his size, but he didn’t kiss me. He seemed intent on studying my response to him, and it was nice this way. I got to see his eyes haze as he slowly retreated, and his mouth part to pull in a ragged breath when he advanced again, this time faster.
“All right?” he whispered in a strained voice.
I nodded, not completely understanding what he was asking.
His gaze flicked up to the wooden pole mounted overhead. “Grab the bar.”
As soon as I did, his hands scooped up under my legs and he lifted me completely, pressing my back against the wall. The shift in weight and the change in angle allowed him to slip deeper inside me, and we both groaned, our sounds of pleasure mingling with each other’s.
Our foreheads pressed together, and he stared unblinking as he made his first actual thrust.
“Oh, God,” I cried. My toes pushed into points, and then his teeth brushed against my bottom lip, gently snagging it.
It made it difficult to discern which I liked better. His cock was fire and pleasure, but his mouth was bliss. I whined with need into his mouth as he established his tempo. I locked my ankles behind his back, the wool of his tuxedo jacket soft against my legs, and I listened to the steady thump of my body against the wall as he drove his hips into me.
Could anyone hear us in here? There wasn’t a lock on the door, and I imagined what it’d look like if someone came in and discovered Macalister holding me in his arms, his pants to his knees and the backs of his bare legs visible beneath his jacket.
His back blocked the view, but the way he moved and the enjoyment twisting on my face would reveal exactly what we were doing.
The room was temperature controlled, but it was hot up here in the attic, and we both began to sweat. His temples were damp, and I felt the sticky cling of the lining of my dress to my back. My makeup was probably melting too, but it was worth it.
The push of his body inside mine was intense.
His nearly silent sounds grew louder and blurred into moans as he picked up the pace.
My arm trembled from the exertion of holding on to the bar to help distribute my weight, and I could tell his muscles were beginning to fatigue, but he was too focused to notice. The composed man I knew was fading away, replaced by this raw, need-driven male with a singular desire.