Rogue (16 page)

Hungrily, I nibble on his nipple ring, and he responds with a growling noise and forces me down on my back. “Impatient, hungry little girl.” He grabs his cock and rolls on the rubber, and he looks as desperate as I am as he starts feeding the head to me. “Is this what you want?”

My eyes roll back from the pleasure and I cry, “Yes, all of it.” He groans when he sees my first tear fall, and when he cups his hands on my face as though to catch them and starts fucking me for real, my body melts into his as the world becomes full of him. Just him. Only him.

He impales himself deeper, and I soar higher and higher. I can feel my nipples brushing his shirt, his hot breath on my face, his body in mine—and that’s all I know as my world careens on its axis. His hands won’t let go of my face, holding me for his every hard, fast, expert thrust. “That’s right, that’s exactly right, let go for me, let go for me, Melanie, I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my throat.

My breasts are budded pink at the tips from the scrape of his shirt; I love it. I love his smell, his hands, his voice. “Yes,” I gasp as he thrusts harder, my rhythm completely clumsy now. All I want is more of him, more of him, ALL OF HIM. “Yes, yes.”

He roars, head falling back, veins popping out in pleasure as he starts jetting off and I spread my legs wider apart as he grabs my hips and thrusts in harder, watching me lose it.

I moan and start to thrash, somehow aware that his eyes are devouring me as I shatter into a million glowing stars.

Moments later, I stir from my dazed stupor to notice he’s caressing one hand across my wet face, the other on my thighs
where I was bruised. The touch melts me deep where it hurts me to remember, but right now, in his arms, a contentment and peace wash between us. I can feel it in his body too. As if he likes wiping my tears.

Sighing in relaxation when he kisses my temple and dries the rest of my face, I hook my bound hands around his neck and press myself into his chest.

“Nobody pushes me as far as you do,” I explain, my voice cottony.

“That’s because I’m bad,” he says. He slides one hand up my arm, to where my hands are linked at his nape.

“I’m fucking”—he kisses one eyelid—“bad for you.” He kisses another eyelid, then he kisses my mouth, and his fingers begin playing with my pussy again. My body surprises me, responding even when I didn’t think it possible.

“Ready for more?”

I nod.

I can’t put a name to what I feel when he’s inside me, so maybe I won’t try to. Does it even have a name? This connection between human beings. Between a woman, and a man; a
fucking asshole.

I look at him, and he doesn’t scare me.

He lures me.

He tempts me, exhilarates me. He makes me want to claim him as if I’m claiming back a part of me that was once lost.

Makes me want to tame him. Let him tame
me.

He rolls another condom on his thick cock and comes up to his knees, and I feel vulnerable and open but I don’t feel like hiding right now. I openly show him my hunger and lick and kiss his thick throat as he grabs my waist and pushes into me. I shudder uncontrollably when he’s all the way in, biting a tendon that juts out on his throat, close to my mouth.

The rumble of the sound he makes tells me he likes it.
You like it when I’m feisty?
My eyes flutter open, and he looks down at me with a look of wild, hungry, proprietary lust, but also strangely reverent and gentle. We fuck lazily this time, without the initial rush, our bodies moving in synchronicity until I see stars as another climax builds and builds.

“Go on, bite me all you want, little kitten.” He prods into my mouth, his eyes on mine as I comply, licking him, tasting him. “Do you want that to be my cock in your mouth?” his husky murmur taunts in my ear, breath hot. “Do you want to be sucking on this cock? Biting on it?”

I gasp with renewed hunger. “When I bite it I’m going to bite hard.” With my arms hooked around his neck, I rake my nails into a part of his scalp, my hips tilting faster to keep up with his increasing rhythm.

His laugh, once again dark, sensual, intimate as he brushes his wet thumb along my lips, the bed squeaking beneath us. “If you think I’m afraid of a little bit of teeth, you need to get to know me better, princess.” Just like that, he bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, thrusting harder so I moan.

I bite back, and he groans such sexy sounds it only makes the sex that much more intense. My wet, snug body grips him greedily because I want him in me for as long as I can have him, but the pleasure is too absolute to last as long as I want to, even though we both seem to be trying to last.

The mattress squeaks beneath us, harder and harder with his thrusts. I’m being just as noisy, and Greyson? He’s releasing low, male noises of pleasure too. “Get ready, princess, I’m coming so hard,” he rasps.

“
Come,”
I beg. He has no idea how much I’m aching to feel him go off inside me, go off with me.

He waits to feel me clench around him. Then, the moment it starts for me, he lets go. He comes full force, his body tightening
like a bow, and when I feel him jerk in me, his hands clenching on my hips, my pleasure explodes inside me until I’m convulsing so totally I can’t keep my eyes open.

Oh.

My.

God.

I lay in breathless silence for a moment, realizing Greyson is untying me. He rubs my wrists with the pads of his thumbs, then plops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, his nipple ring glinting with the little rays of sunlight peeking through the window.

The sun is rising already. I really didn’t want it to rise yet because I don’t want to leave yet.

In silence, I go to the bathroom and when I come back to bed, he’s staring out at the city looking satisfied and exhausted, his shirt all wrinkled, his hair all mussed, his beautiful mouth swollen from me. I should get going. Probably, I should. Instead I stare at him and that mouth and I wonder how many women kissed those lips.

Many, Melanie.

He’s warned me off, but I don’t feel like being warned off. I feel as though somewhere, deep down, he’s bullshitting me. Why would he give me this necklace otherwise? Why would he give me, over and over, THE LOOK?

Even so, I’ve gotta go, so I walk back to that big bed, my eyes scanning the floor for my dress even though the thought of going home alone to my apartment makes my stomach churn. I could call Pandora, but I’ll have to be prepared for her drilling the shit out of me, I guess.

“Do you see my dress?” I whisper to him.

His voice is gruff with tiredness, his eyes hooded as he pulls open the bedsheet for me.

“Yeah, I set it aside to avoid the clutter. Come here and get some sleep.”

Oh, god, I really didn’t want to leave, but I don’t want him to know how much I want to sleep here tonight either.

So I stand there, naked and unsure for a moment.

“I don’t have to stay,” I say, but there’s this way he has of looking at you—as if he’s commanding you. It’s very odd. I’ve never encountered anyone who could have such control with a single look.

Caving in to it, I find myself quietly heading over. His lips curl as he lifts the sheet higher and I see his naked body under the cover.

I feel strangely awkward as I slide into bed with him, first sitting on the corner of the bed and quickly braiding my hair; I wouldn’t fall asleep otherwise, I simply can’t stand waking up and feeling it on my face.

I sense his curious gaze watching my every move, and when I sigh and lie down on my side, facing a stone fireplace on the far side of the room, he laughs behind me. “You really plan to sleep way over there?”

“I don’t want to intrude!” I laugh nervously. “I don’t stay over usually.”

“You just like to fuck and get away, that’s fine, princess. Except for the fact that I’m not done with you.”

He reaches out and guides me toward him by my braid, and when I don’t protest the maneuver and actually feel like tucking myself closer to his warmth, he exhales softly. “You’re something, aren’t you,” he murmurs, taking my braid in his fist and forcing me to roll over and face him. Then he pins my head against his, forehead to forehead. “Maybe I’ll sleep tonight; you wear a man out.”

“What do you mean?” I peer up at him, notice the hard set of his jaw. “You don’t sleep?”

“Not well, but I’ll go for it if you will,” he softly teases me.

“Then let’s go for it,” I say, grinning.

It feels like, for several minutes, we stay as we are, him with the merest curve of his lips while I’m smiling completely, both of us looking into each other’s eyes. I have no idea what he sees in my eyes that holds him so intently engrossed, but I can’t look away from his gaze either. It’s so closed and mysterious while, at the same time, I can see a fiery rawness in his gaze, as if he desperately wants something from me.

Not something:
all
of me.

“Come here,” he rasps. He makes the first move, easing one of his arms around me, pulling me against his side. I cuddle into his large body, a little tense at first, but at the same time, achingly aware of every spot where our naked bodies are touching. Where my breasts press into his ribs, my cheek on his chest, one of my legs hooking in between his.

God, this is as intimate as it gets with a man and I cannot relax, I cannot oxygenate, I cannot formulate a thought.

His breathing begins to deepen and . . . oh, wow. He’s asleep.

He fell asleep holding me, with his arm locked around my shoulders, and I don’t understand why I get butterflies over this.

There’s a little blood on his shirt, on the sleeve of the arm curved around me. I touch the red stain, wondering if I scratched him. Then I stare up into his beautiful, masculine face, wondering about him. For the first time in my life, I want to lie in bed next to a guy and listen to him breathe, slow and deep, like he’s breathing. I don’t understand my visceral reactions to him.

This hot man with a secret room. Who in the world has a secret room?

This man does. And I’m so curious about him, I study his features and tell myself I can sleep when I’m alone . . . so I touch his nipple ring and watch him lie in his big lonely apartment, deep
asleep with one arm around me, wondering what other secrets he keeps from me.

♥  ♥  ♥

A PHONE IS beeping, and beeping, and beeping. I moan and twist around, feeling something against my body that’s so hot and so hard it’s definitely not a pillow. “What is that sound?”

Sleepy hazel eyes open and meet mine, and my lungs tighten in the most delicious way.
Did I really sleep in this man’s arms? This man who
told
me he was going to be my worst nightmare?
He sits up in bed and works the kinks out of his neck, stretching out his arms until every muscle is tight and flexed, then he curses as the beeping continues, grabs the offending machine and stalks out of bed and steps, buck naked, out onto the balcony of his apartment. I survey his butt with a tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. What day is today? Saturday? Sunday?

Brooke. Remy. Wedding, I remind myself. You and Greyson.

Melting.

I shake off my sleep and realize I’ve been here over thirty-six hours. All of Saturday early morning and now, today, is it already Sunday?

I stretch and my body is sore all over. I remember yesterday. Eating with him on the floor, picnic style. Lounging in bed. Teasing him. Watching
Blow
. God. I haven’t had a weekend this amazing in my dreams.

He asked about my fantasies last night.

I laughed. “Well . . . I might have one, but I’m not going to tell you,” I whispered in mischief as I peered up into his face. “What’s one of yours?”

“Fantasies are for people who don’t do what they want.”

“So you’ve done everything then?”

“Everything that I’ve wanted to do.”

“Including me?”

He laughed, a delicious sound. “Including you. Now a handful of times.”

“Including a threesome?” I teased.

“Of course.”

“Really?” Perking up with curiosity, I propped my chin on his chest. “Is it fun?”

He ran his thumb down the dents of my spine, glancing at my smile with a smile of his own. “For the guy, yes. The girls don’t seem to be able to forget it’s not a competition.”

“You only do threesomes with two girls?” I prodded. “That’s very asshole of you.”

“Baby, I don’t share my girls with other men, that’s not how I roll.”

“Well, I couldn’t share with another girl either. I’d kick the bitch out of bed right now. I’d want both your hands on me, not just one. Pfft!”

He laughed and threw his head back a bit, his voice rumbly and rough, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re enough for any guy, trust me.”

Sensuality oozed off him so bad I want to lick him. The way he’s been fucking me is so . . . I can’t even explain it. I’ve never felt such a strong connection, such a primal awareness of him as a man, and me as a . . . woman. “What about anal?”

Lord, his next laugh was so dark and sexy. “Of course. That’s always fun.” He looked at me, then understanding dawned in his eyes, and they started shining brightly, almost too brightly as he cupped my ass in one warm, long-fingered hand. “Come here, Melanie.”

My heart sped up at the lust thickening his voice. I love sex. Sex is the only way I’ve ever connected with the opposite gender,
but never like this. Never with anything risky. Anything where I had to trust the man being with me not to hurt me.

“Do you want to get ass-fingered, princess?” he whispered in my ear, and my blood rushed hot in my veins as he dipped his thumb along the fissure between the curves of my buttocks. All my body squeezed in reaction as he headed for that spot.

“Grey!” I said, my cheeks burning a vivid scarlet when his thumb grazed me, like the brush of a feather.

“Does that feel good, princess?” He watched me with liquid whiskey eyes, his eyelashes seeming heavy as I caught my lip between my teeth to keep from making an embarrassingly wanton sound. I became so wet I heard the slick sound of his thumb brushing over my folds before he started dragging his hand backward again, passing over every nerve on my backside, soft and languorous.