“Fuck,” she whispered, delving her fingers through his hair, clutching his shoulders. “Marcus—”
At the sound of his name, he sucked on her clit a little harder, and she couldn’t stay still. When her hips lifted, he held her down, held her in place, forced her to accept his pace with the unrelenting strength of his arms. None of it hurt, nothing, but she wasn’t going anywhere, not unless he wanted her to, even though she was so much bigger than him.
The force of that knowledge whited out her brain for a moment, and she whimpered.
He lifted his head for a moment, raising himself up on his arms enough to make eye contact, and she groaned at the sudden absence of that incredibly talented tongue.
“Everything okay?” His mouth was wet with her, his pupils wide and dark. “If I do something you don’t like, just tell me. Or if you want me to stop—”
Okay, enough talking. Back to licking.
“I’ll let you know if I have any complaints.” She lightly pushed at his shoulders and raised her hips again, because God, please. “In the meantime, for the love of—”
Even as a demigod, he’d never looked quite so self-satisfied.
“Say no more.”
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she let out a breathy, appreciative gasp at the darting flick of his tongue. Jesus, if he’d learned that swirling motion for a role, as he had so many of his other impressive skills, she was applauding his choice of parts and possibly nominating him for a retroactive porn award of some sort.
He was sucking on her clit again, flicking it with his tongue, and his thumb was circling her entrance, pressing just inside and rubbing around and around, and she was rocking and arching against him, grinding against his mouth as her chin tipped back and her world became brightness behind her eyelids. Fuck. Fuck.
And then—
His mouth was gone. He was scrambling off the bed, reaching for his jeans, and she lay there and trembled in near-orgasm and scowled at him with the full force of her displeasure.
His hands were unsteady too as he smoothed the condom over his cock, and he winced apologetically as he caught her eye.
“Wasn’t sure I could last long enough inside you for a third orgasm, and I want to feel you come around my dick.”
“Hmph.” That was reasonable enough, she supposed, and she stopped glaring. “Do you want on top, or . . .”
He flopped down on the mattress, his face flushed and eager and oddly young. “I’d love to have you ride me, if that’s good for you. So I can watch you above me.”
Her own face warmed at that, and the pleasure wasn’t entirely sexual.
She straddled his lean hips. And because she was apparently a vindictive bitch when sexually frustrated, she took her time about positioning him and sinking down on his cock. She lowered herself slowly, swallowing him inch by inch, eyes locked to his, hands braced on his thighs behind her as he stretched her wide.
“April,” he protested, but he had no right to complain, and he knew it.
She was so slick and ready, the penetration was nothing but pleasure for her, and she clenched around his thickness within her and smiled with her own brand of smugness as she slid down, down, down on him.
By the time she was done, by the time she had his cock hot and hard and wholly within her, he was panting and hitching his hips against her weight, his blue-gray eyes dazed and frantic. But in that position, with her size, she had the power now.
Leaning forward, she tucked her hair behind her ears and petted his dampening chest.
“Everything okay?” Shit, she had to grind against him. Just a little, because she was still so very close, and her eyes went half-lidded with the jolt of sensation. “If I do something you don’t like—”
“Yes, yes.” His smile was tight and pained but genuine. “I’ll let you know.”
She forced herself to still. “I’m taunting you, obviously.”
He huffed out a little laugh. “Obviously.”
“But I mean it too,” she told him.
“I know. I appreciate that.” Each of his hard breaths lifted that flat belly, shifting her like an ocean’s wave. “Now let me—”
His thumb found her clit and rubbed slowly, and she closed her eyes entirely.
Oh. Oh. Yes.
Leaning back again, she braced herself and began to rock on him. Not up and down, because she was too far gone for that. Back and forth, against that agile, teasing thumb, as his cock filled her and spread her wide.
“April.” His other hand was squeezing her hip in a possessive hold. “April.”
When he shifted beneath her, she cried out, the bolt of pleasure between her thighs unexpected. Despite her weight, he was lifting his hips beneath her in shallow, short thrusts, fucking her from below as she clutched his thighs, his lifted knees, anything she could take hold of. Fuck, he was so strong, so hard within her, swelling and somehow pressing deeper, rubbing her inside and out, and his thumb—
The pressure burst, and she was making loud, harsh sounds, clenching around him again and again, heedless of anything but how fucking good he felt moving inside her, still circling her clit, levering himself up to kiss her hard before he fell back again and bucked his hips and shouted and shook.
He kept his hand on her until the end, coaxing every last twitch from her sated flesh. When she slid to the side, reluctantly parting from him to collapse boneless onto the mattress, he cupped her cheek and kissed her softly and sweetly. He tasted like her. His fingers were still slick with her.
That touch, that unhurried kiss were a statement, she knew, made silently and immediately, before she had even a moment to wonder and worry.
He repeated that statement after they both made quick trips to her bathroom, with the way he immediately climbed back into bed and cuddled close, encasing her with all four limbs in a way she would soon find smothering but welcomed for now. He was stroking her back in long sweeps, murmuring in her ear about how fucking hot it was to watch her riding him, how the sounds she made when she came pushed him into his own orgasm just as much as the feel of her squeezing him, how next time he was going to make her fall apart with his mouth alone.
They were all welcome words, but not his actual message.
He didn’t need to say it aloud. She heard anyway.
This wasn’t just a fuck.
I love your body.
I’m not going anywhere.
SHARKPHOON
INT. OVAL OFFICE – NOON
DR. BRADEN FIN stands with GIRL IN BIKINI #3 before the president, his tight swim briefs covered only by his white lab coat, both still splattered with the blood of his fallen, chomped-upon colleague. He’s also wearing safety glasses and a look of grief and determination. The president is staring up at him, steely-eyed, elbows on her desk, fingers steepled.
PRESIDENT FOOLWORTH
You’re wasting my time. This is no emergency.
BRADEN
Madam President, it is. You don’t understand. The typhoon is so powerful, the sharks so enormous, nowhere is safe. Not our aircraft carriers. Not our nuclear facilities. Not even here, with the Reflecting Pool so close to the White—
PRESIDENT FOOLWORTH
(smiling coldly)
The Mariana Trench is a continent away. You’re dismissed.
A gust of wind and the sound of breaking glass. A shark crashes through the Oval Office windows and bites the president in half, then gulps down the other half too and disappears out the same window in pursuit of other victims.