His crown breaches my entrance, cradled right there, not quite where I want it. I shift back, trying to swallow him inside me. “Stop teasing me,” I murmur.
“Hard and fast,” he whispers, the barest hint of amusement in his tone. Before I can take another breath, he thrusts in, balls deep, jerking my body forward against the island until my breasts are hard against the cool surface. Gripping my hips, he pistons deep. It’s ruthless, almost violent, and feels like he’s punishing me, using me; he might not have spanked me, but he’s fucking me like he’s angry, and it’s so,sogood. An orgasm blooms, spreading with an intensity I’ve never known.
“Oh, God,” I moan, and his hand slaps over my mouth, the other still on my hip.
“Scream,” he hisses.
Screaming into his hand, I come undone, breaking apart and seeing stars as he pounds into me. The orgasm sweeps me away into a blissful reality, where I no longer care that I’ve lied to my best friend, and I’m letting her father take me from behind like a whore he’s paid for.
The sound of his body slamming into mine is loud enough to wake the dead, and the breaths that shunt from our lungs seem almost as loud as my muffled scream.
He loses his rhythm and falls forwards, clasping me around the waist as he spills into me, breathing raggedly against my ear. His dick pulses again and again until he’s empty, and he rests on top of me, our chests billowing from the exertion.
For a few moments, it’s just us, our breath, the moonlit kitchen. Then he whispers, “I can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“I can’t pretend this is just sex. You already have more of me than that.”
How much? What do I have? What does he think he’s given me?
I’d return it if I knew.
“This can’t go anywhere,” I say, still breathless. “If it has to be a secret, it’s always going to be toxic.”
He touches his forehead to my back, stilling for a moment, then kisses me there. “True. I don’t want to be the reason you’re in therapy ten years down the line.”
I let out a tiny laugh. “You’re so arrogant.”
He peels himself off me. “I was going for considerate.”
I toss a dismissive smile over my shoulder. “I met you in a sex club after I’d escaped from an arranged marriage my father sold me into to seal a business deal. He took everything from me, hasalways been abusive and controlling, and I’ve only ever been a pawn to him. I use sex as a way of avoidingeverything. Numbing out with orgasms from strangers. And you think an affair withyouis what’s going to drive me to therapy?”
He kisses my shoulder. “God, Diana. If I could take all of that away, I would.”
My heart splinters at the idea he’d even want to. “So yeah,” I say as casually as I can. “You aren’t going to be the reason I have to find a therapist.”
Another kiss against my shoulder, his chest still rising and falling steadily against my back; I want to sink into the rhythm of his breath.
“But I might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I mean, we’re having this conversation when my dick is still inside you, and my cum is leaking down your thigh.” I say nothing, and he clears his throat. “Come with me to my room, please. Sleep with me.”
“We just did that.”
“No, I mean, next to me. Not for sex. Come and sleep next to me, please. I want to hold you as you fall asleep. I want to wake up with you in my arms, in my home, in my bed. I don’t want this to be some dirty secret.”
An unbidden swell of emotion rises from my chest to my throat, nearly blocking my airway. “It has to be. If Lizzie finds out, this will probably sendherto therapy.”
He sighs and curses under his breath. “Better make sure she doesn’t find out then.” He withdraws, pressing what feels like a cotton handkerchief between my legs to catch his mess and wiping me gently. “You’ll be dripping my cum all night. You might as well make a mess on my sheets rather than your own.”
“How romantic.”
He narrows his eyes. “You sound far too jaded for a twenty-one-year-old.”
“I’m not jaded.” I laugh. “The idea of dripping your cum all nightisn’tromantic. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as fuck, but it’s not romance.”
“Is that what you want? Romance?”
“No,” I whisper, but it’s a lie.