Page 30 of Hemlock

What's glaringly absent is the warning bells and the voices telling me that this is the last fucking position I should've put myself in.

Chapter 14

Zara

Not that it's what I'm looking for where this man is concerned, but I can't help the sense of honor that swells in my chest when Owen's eyes flutter closed as I trace the ridges of his stomach muscles.

He seems more like the type of man that rarely, if ever, lets his guard down, yet for some reason, he seems to trust me enough to do it now. Either that or he doesn't see me as much of a threat.

Either way, I like the way I feel in this moment.

The tip of my forefinger traces one of the many scars on his stomach, but I know better than to ask him what happened. As calm and pliable as he seems right now, I know the man isn't going to give me any information about his past. Hell, I shouldn't be foolish enough to want to ask in the first place.

We both know exactly what this is and muddling those lines would only end badly for me. Owen Clark isn't the type of man to open his eyes and realize he's got a good thing where I'm concerned.

He hums his contentment, sounding not unlike a purring cat that's lounging in the sun and happy with their life.

Billy was so skinny, his ribs showing most days, and now looking back, I have to wonder if the man was not only selling drugs but using them. We'd both smoke a little weed every now and then, but I never imagined he'd get into some of the heavier shit. He always had such a vocal opinion about heavy drug use, but maybe he was protesting so loudly because he figured it kept suspicion as to what he was really doing away. I probably should've paid more attention.

I tilt my head, trying to get rid of any and all thoughts of everything but what's happening in this moment. Billy doesn't deserve a second more of my time, and he certainly doesn't even compare to the man straddling my waist right now.

Rough, calloused hands palm my breasts, his thumbs rubbing abrasive circles over my nipples. My first instinct is to roll away from his touch, the scratch of his touch chafing, but that mild irritation and pain turns to pleasure. I hate that I'm just now learning things about my body. It makes me wonder how different my life might be if I'd known such things sooner.

My mouth hangs open on a moan of pain when he pinches my left nipple between his forefinger and thumb, making me look up at him.

His teeth dig into his lower lip, eyelids half-mast as he looks down at me. His cock rests on my sternum, the tip leaking onto my skin, and I realize my mouth is watering for another taste of him. That gives me pause.

I can't recall another time in my life when I wanted to suck a guy's cock much less my body actually responding with the need to do so.

"You look at me like you can't get enough," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard despite the rough rasp still in it.

"You look like you need to bury that cock someplace," I counter, knowing he'd pull away if I ask all the things that are trying to escape my lips, the biggest being why me?

I can tell the way his muscles ripple under my touch that he isn't a man that is touched very often. His voice is harsh and unused as if he rarely speaks, but then again, maybe I'm only seeing what I want to see. Maybe he's like this with many women as often as he can be.

I grumble my annoyance. Getting lost in my head, worrying about shit I shouldn't care about, isn't how I want to spend my night.

"Put this on and maybe I'll get that wish."

He drops the condom to my chest, and I scramble to pick it up.

I work the package open, muttering a curse word when my hands refuse to work exactly how I want them to. Eventually I get the damn thing open, tossing the package over the edge of the bed to the floor so I can concentrate on getting the latex rolled down his erection.

He groans with the pressure I use on the tip to make sure it's not going on too snugly. The last thing I need is the damn thing breaking. He doesn't seem the type that will even be around for me to announce a pregnancy scare to if we do end up in a situation like that.

As I move backward, sliding my thighs and spreading them, I take a chance by sitting up and urging him to his back. He allows it, and it surprises the shit out of me, feeling more than just the sensation of his skin against mine when he clutches my hips as I settle on top of him.

It's clear the man doesn't want to be kissed, and as much as that stings, I can also understand it. There's a certain level of intimacy to kissing, and I probably shouldn't want it either. But that doesn't stop me from watching his mouth as I lift up and position the tip of his thick cock right at my entrance.

Whatever notion I had that I'd be the one in control in this position drains away when he grips my hips, forcing me to sink down on his cock.

My mouth hangs open, my body struggling to take him all at once. His hands tremble as he grinds his teeth. I swear another rush of my arousal coats his cock, making my glide down his length a little easier. The man is big, and my body isn't accustomed to anything like what he's working with.

As soon as I'm fully seated, his hands fall away, resting at his sides, but I don't miss the way his hips rock up slightly when I lift a few inches off him, as if he can't help but chase the sensation and pleasure my body is giving him.

I set the slowest rhythm I can manage, my hips rolling slowly as I grind down on him. I ache already, the echo of him being inside of me stuck with me all day, and I can tell it's probably a little too soon to be doing this again. But there's a great part of me that yearns for the soreness he leaves behind.

Whimpers of both pleasure and pain escape my lips, my tongue sneaking out to wet the dryness left behind from my panting. He borders on being almost too much, despite how much my body craves every inch of him.

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