Because no, that's not how I'm going to start with this woman. I want Avalon Manning to be more than a body in my bed. I want her to fucking want me as much as I crave her. I want her to think about me the way I think of her—all the fucking time in an all consuming cycle.
I lower myself. When my knees hit the floor, her hands sink into my hair. Shivers chase down my spine as her nails scrape my scalp. I lift her dress and press a kiss to the softness of her stomach. My lips stretch and I smile as I feel her inhale sharply, her belly sucking in and her chest rising beneath the dark fabric that will soon enough be crumpled on the floor along with her panties. She knows exactly where this is going. My mouth on her little pussy. My tongue deep inside her walls. I can’t wait to fucking see her come apart.
46
Avalon
Am I doing this? For real? With him?
The answer is yes. I am. And if I'm being honest with myself, we've been riding a bullet train straight to this moment since I first realized who he was. His hands move beneath my dress, pushing it up as he kisses my stomach and then nuzzles further down until his face is centered right over my panties, so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my pussy.
My eyes slide shut and when his palms spread my thighs open, pushing them up and out until my feet are planted on the edge of the mattress and he's staring at the crotch of my thong. One thick finger strokes down the center and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. I'm wet, soaked as fuck. Ready.
"Dean," I say his name through gritted teeth, "either do something or let me get the fuck up and go get someone who will."
His finger freezes, his hands retract, and I think, well shit, I pushed too far too fast. Then something cold touches my skin. I jump and his hand lands back on my thigh, holding me down. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he warns.
My head arches up and I see a flash of silver. A pocket knife. My heart starts pounding faster, harder, echoing in my ears. My breath shudders out as my chest expands. Dean's fingers hook into one side of my thong and he cuts it away before doing the same to the other and then he takes the bottom of my dress and glances up, those dark eyes of his meeting mine as he begins to slice upward. The back of the metal blade presses against my skin, making my heartbeat leap as he cuts a perfect path up past the swell of my breasts until the fabric is laying open, revealing everything that my bra doesn't cover. That, too, though, is no match for him and soon I'm laying bare and naked beneath Dean Carter.
His eyes never leave mine as he presses the back of the weapon against his jaw and closes it with one hand and drops it next to my head. "You and I both know there's no way I'm letting you out of this room until I've had you in every position I've imagined you in since I met you," he says, dipping down and licking the dried sweat from my throat.
I clench my whole body as I feel the ball of his tongue piercing against my skin. My eyes close once more and I have to resist moaning at the feel of his fingers as they make their way back down to the place between my thighs. One stretches into my opening, pressing inside and curving up in a come here movement. Dean's lips move from the tip of one breast to the next as his stubble scrapes my flesh raw.
I can't catch my breath. I'm in sensory overload. The feel of his fingers—first the one and then two and then three pushing into my core. The sound of my pussy growing wetter and wetter as he gets me off. The loudness of my own moans as I stop resisting them and let them out, meeting his growling satisfaction as he bites down on one nipple, sending me straight up and over the edge into a fiery fast orgasm.
Panting, I tighten down on his hand as Dean withdraws his fingers and lifts them up for me to see. He grins, and I have to admit, wickedness is a good look for him. He presses his hand to my mouth, stroking my lips with my own wetness. I don't even have to be told. I lick the cream from his fingers, staring straight into his eyes as I do, daring him to help me. He doesn't disappoint. Dean leans forward and licks the opposite side of his own hand; the only thing keeping our mouths from fusing together.
As if a chain has been cut and he's unleashed, Dean pulls back and rips his shirt over his head, tossing it away. He helps me remove the scraps of the shredded dress and throws it as well. Dean’s hands fall to his waist and I bite my lip, watching as he unbuttons the top of his jeans and then lowers the zipper. The base of his cock makes an appearance, and when he shucks his pants and boxers the rest of the way off, stepping out of them before coming down over me, I grin.
"Nice to see I didn't imagine that piercing," I say.
Dean arches a brow and then reaches down, cupping himself and guiding the head of his cock to my entrance. He rubs that piercing against my clit, ever the tormentor. He pauses. "Birth control?" he asks, eyes shooting to mine.
I laugh. "Dean, I've been on birth control since I was twelve. You're good." I arch a brow. "Unless you have something to tell me."
"I've been checked," he assures me, resuming his torture. The metal of his piercing feels warmer than I expect it and I imagine exactly where it will soon be—in my pussy, scraping my G-spot. "Have to get regular physicals with the team."
"Right," I say absently, nodding. Football. I forgot, he's a player. It occurs to me that I've never actually been to a game, but I guess football doesn't happen in the winter and spring. My thoughts are completely erased a moment later when he lowers his knees and then brings the head of his cock to my opening and presses inside and fucking hell, he's thicker than his fingers. Way thicker. Deliciously so.
I groan as he starts with shallow thrusts, working the first half of his length inside. "Fuck," he hisses through his teeth. “You really are gonna fucking kill me.”
I whimper when he hits something particularly deep and my nails sink into the skin of his back. He groans.
"God, those fucking sounds." His breath hits my ear—hot and humid—a split second before he leans down and his teeth scrape my earlobe. He bites down. Hard. I moan as a shot of adrenaline pours through me. "Louder," he orders. "I want them to hear you come on my cock."
Shit fuck. I don't think anything could sound hotter than the confidence in his tone. There’s no question of whether or not I’ll come on his cock—only the inevitability. He’s going to be the death of me. He’s going to wreck me from the inside out and I’m perfectly okay with it as long as it feels this fucking good. I gasp as he pulls back and thrusts into me, his cock spearing through my pussy and hitting a point inside my core that almost hurts.
Dean arches up, doing it again and again. Moving faster and faster, slamming into me so hard that the bed moves and the headboard smacks into the wall with every thrust. His hand comes down, gripping my breast, and squeezing roughly. I love it. The roughness. The aggressive feeling of being fucked by him. I’ve had guys do it before—grab my tit when they fuck me, but for some reason—coming from him, it’s different. Perhaps because he doesn't just squeeze and release like they had. Instead, he squeezes harder—hard enough to hurt—before he lets go and then feathers his fingers over the tip again. His thumbs and forefingers move over my nipples. Gently. A tease. A whisper right before he fucking grips the peaks and twists.