The night sky making him look like a devil in disguise with that bulky frame and days-old stubble on his face.
God, even in anger, I can’t deny how gorgeous this man is. And that does nothing to tamp down my arousal as I feel wetness pool between my legs.
Noah’s hand languidly travels upward, my heart beating wildly in anticipation. The moment he reaches my apex, he cups it viciously, causing my breath to hitch.
His own breath stutters as his head falls in the crook of my neck. “Fuck Rainbow, you’re not wearing panties? Again?”
“This dress is too short for that,” I exhale, reasoning as if that makes it any better.
“That…doesn’t make it better, Andie,” he struggles to say as his palm tightens, making me rise on my toes.
“It d…doesn’t?” I somehow manage to ask, my hands fisting his shirt.
“No,” he growls, pulling back as his dark eyes peer into mine. “Knowing you wore a short dress with no panties underneath for a man who’s not me? No, Rainbow, that only makes it worse,” herasps, his voice filled with tension and lust.
Loving pushing him over the edge, I lean closer and lick the outer shell of his ear, racking a shiver in his body. “I can do whoever Iwant, Noah. You were the one who pushed me away. Remember?” I whisper.
With a rumble in his chest that I feel right in my nipples, his hand curls around my throat as he pushes me to the wall, the coarse surface digging in my back. But the sardonic smile doesn’t leave my lips.
And I get exactly what I wanted because he pushes three fingers inside of me with a brutal shove without warning. A loud moan threatens to slip past me, and I bite my tongue until I taste blood to keep it in.
“Look at you? Sucking my fingers so deeply inside of you as if you’ve been dying for them to fill this greedy cunt up,” his hoarse voice and dirty words cause my belly to flip as I bite back on another moan, his hand on my throat a reminder of who holds the power.
Him.
“No. I found something else to fill me up in your absence,” I say with all the smugness I can, while his fingers slowly move inside of me.
Liar, Liar, pants on fire.
Wrath like I’ve never seen before rolls off him in waves, threatening to drown me. His body goes deathly still, his finger stopping inside of me.
“Tell me that’s a lie.” He demands. It is, but I’m not telling him that. “Tell me it’s a fucking lie, Rainbow,” he repeats, his hand around my throat tightening, almost enough to cut off the oxygen to my lungs.
Even light-headed, I don’t miss the gentle caress of his thumb on a vein on my neck. Why does he do that?
Makes me fall deeper with his innate nature to care for others even when he isn’t himself.
“No,” I squeak, my hand wrapping around his to loosen it, but wrapping around it instead. God, I love how powerful and manly his hands feel—big, rough, with protruding veins.
He bares his teeth, feral with my non-compliance. “Tell me, no one touched this pussy,” he seethes, thrusting his fingers right up to his knuckles.
“Tell me, no one tasted whatmypussy tastes like, Rainbow,” he lays a claim that should’ve appalled me, but only makes me wetter.
Rest in peace, feminism and all those who fought for it.
“Tell me, baby, that no man has had the privilege of tearing through this pussy but me,” he growls, primal in his demand, yet causing the knot in my belly to get tighter with every dirty word whispered.
While he continues his ministration, thrusting so deep within me that I can see stars even when I close my eyes, all I can do is take what he’s giving me and moan like a wanton in the night.
It’s like he can read my mind. “Louder, baby, louder. Let the world hear who owns this pussy.” A dark chuckle escapes his full lips, eyes gleaming in the dark. “You do love the idea of being caught after all.”
My folds clench around his thick digits, loving the depraved idea more than I ever thought was possible.
The heat of his body, fingers inside of me, hand wrapped around my throat, and words leaving his mouth are enough to take me to my high. And the second I feel the knot in my belly begin to break, taking me over the edge as my features scrunch in the anticipation of the impending pleasure, his fingers stop.
Hestops.
Impeding my metaphorical jump over the cliff.