"Fuck!" I scream as an orgasm lashes through me. It barrels through my body, white hot, unexpected. Faster than I'd ever imagined. It wipes out all rational thought and completely consumes me, overwhelms my logical brain and drowns out all else until I’m riding on a wave of pure ecstasy. It’s then that I realize, Dean Carter is a fucking drug. Dangerous. Deadly. Addictive.
I pant, gasping for air. Shocked at how hard it is just to fucking breathe. But he isn't done. Far from it, in fact. He withdraws his cock, sliding through my folds, coated in the remains of my orgasm, and smiles down at me. "Good girl," he whispers, bending towards me and pressing a fast kiss to my mouth. Then he powers forward again, and as sensitive as I am after my last orgasm, I feel the movement ten times harder. My nails scrape down his back, dragging down his sides, over his ribs, and I know without seeing them that I’ve left my mark on him.
Dean hisses, arching into the pain of my grip. I know it has to hurt, but from the way he’s acting—grinding into me, fucking me harder than ever—it’s clear he doesn’t give a shit. Dirty asshole, I think, even as I cling to his much larger frame, letting him overwhelm me. It takes only minutes of his thrusting before I feel the flutterings of another orgasm.
What the actual fuck? I just came. It’s not possible. “Dean,” I gasp.
“That’s right, baby,” he urges, thrusting faster, hitting against that spot inside me—pounding it into oblivion. “Say my name.”
He’s unhinged. Powerful. Hungry. Unstoppable. I open my mouth to scream again, but nothing comes out. The pleasure ricochets up through me, and my chest collapses. My heart slams against the confines of my ribcage. My eyes roll back into my head.
I’m going to die like this, I think just before the peak overcomes me. In the throes of some ridiculously delicious sex.
Hands grip my wrists and yank them away from his flesh. My eyes slam open. I hadn't even noticed when they closed. He shoves my arms up the bed, beneath the pillows, holding them down as his hips rise and fall. We’re connected, now, only by the place where he’s pounding his cock into me and where our hands clasp together. Dean’s eyes meet mine—dark and heated.
"Look at me," he commands. There’s no denying him. I already am. "You're gonna come again, aren't you?" he asks with an evil smile.
I can't respond. Trying to inhale and exhale is still too much of a chore. I open my mouth, but instead of speaking, I moan when he pushes into me at the same moment. He grinds down until I can feel nothing else but my skin against his. I groan, tossing my head back into the pillows at my back as he chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest. I gasp, inhaling sharply as he hits that spot again—the one pulsing deep inside. And then he hits it again … and again. Fuck!
"Scream," he whispers in my ear, his fingers releasing my hands and trailing down to my breasts once more. He circles my nipples. I know what’s coming, and I can’t fucking wait for it. "Scream for me." He pinches down, eliciting such pain and yet, such pleasure as well, I can't help but give him what he wants. Another scream rips through me as I come, and I come hard. White light blinds me. Pleasure wraps around my throat and squeezes. No. Not pleasure. His hands. I open my eyes—mid-orgasm—and see that he's released my nipples and moved to my neck. He squeezes with both hands, clamping down on either side—cutting off the blood flow, but never my oxygen as his face contorts.
"Fuck yes!" he yells. “Milk me, baby. I want this pussy to take all I have to give.” The dirty words coming from his lips spur me on. He was right. If he’s the one doing it, I do like it. I arch against his grip, against his cock as he thrusts into me relentlessly.
I feel him lean back, pulling his cock from me and spurting the rest of his cum against the outside of my pussy and over the curve of my stomach. He groans as I catch my breath—still entrapped in the high of feeling like I just jumped off a goddamn cliff.
And it’s only when he groans and releases my throat—when dots of black and white appear in my vision—that I realize just how fucked I really am. Because sex like this has only one path—straight to fucking hell.
47
Avalon
I had sex with Dean Carter. And … I liked it. It’s a new thing for me, liking sex. It's always been more or less about release. Not an activity that I want to spend all night doing or even all day. But that’s what happens. I wake the next morning with his face already buried back between my thighs. Thighs that he makes tremble and shake as he sucks my clit into his mouth and rubs the metal rod in his tongue up and down it. He makes me want it. Over and over. All that explosiveness between us, the hatred, the frustration, we take it out on each other and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
Sex with Dean is like getting the biggest adrenaline high I’ve ever had. We do it more times than I can count. Against the wall with his face next to mine as he pounds into me. In the shower with me bent damn near in half as he fucks my pussy with his chest pressed to my spine. On the bed. In front of the windows overlooking the ocean. When I think I can’t do it anymore, when I'm too fucking sore that I feel like my pussy can't possibly get wet ever again, his arm will curl around me while I’m exhausted beyond belief, and then suddenly his fingers are between my legs and the floodgates are open once more. He pushes me onto my back, shoves that pierced cock of his right into my pussy until I’m screaming out yet another orgasm.
It's mind blowing, and worse, it's confusing.
I lay there, my head pillowed on his bicep as I count the individual hairs on his arm. Outside, the sun is starting to set. An array of various colors reflecting against the surface of the ocean. I'm in a beautiful bedroom in a beautiful place with a man who's spent the last day and a half proving to me the meaning of dickmatized, yet all I can think of now is how fucking exhausted I am and how far from reality this all is.
Dean's breath blows out against my ear as he sighs, his chest moving up and down against my back. "What are you thinking?" he asks as if sensing the darkening turn of my thoughts. I wish he'd just remained silent, but speaking has ruined the whole atmosphere I was enjoying.
I reach up and yank an arm hair out in retaliation. "Shit!" He retracts his arm and my head lands against the mattress, bouncing once, twice, and a final third time as I laugh. "What the hell was that for?" he asks.
"I was enjoying the moment," I state. "You ruined it. That was punishment."
The covers slip away as he shifts over me, pressing his bare chest against mine, the prickling hairs on his pecs rubbing against my nipples, making them tingle. I glance down, over the small pale scars that mar different parts of his body. Some of them surprise me because I recognize them. I know a knife wound when I see one. But I don't ask. We may have given in to the sexual chemistry, but neither of us trusts the other. Not yet.
"You never answered my question." He presses a kiss to my shoulder, one palm coming up to cup my breast.
I sigh as I relax into the mattress. "I was just thinking about my hometown," I say. Though his eyes flick up to scan my face, he doesn't reply. Instead, Dean spends the next several minutes working his way back down my body with light kisses and hard sucks until I'm writhing in his grasp.