Page 101 of Strictly the Worst

He gently pulls the towel from my body, leaving me naked. His gaze travels down my body, a low breath escaping his lips. Then he takes my nipple between his fingers, twisting it. I let out a gasp.

“Do friends do this to each other?” he asks.

“No,” I breathe as he pinches it hard. I’m somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“Good. I’m glad we’re clear. If you want to call it friends, then do it. But we’re exclusive friends. Friends who fuck like rabbits and don’t let anybody else touch them.”

Oh, he’s being possessive. “You’re the first man to touch me in years,” I remind him.

His jaw twitches. “And you’re the only woman that gets to touch me.” He leans forward, the softness of his lips a contrast to the hardness of his voice. “Now I’m going to fuck you, then we’re going to talk. Because I can’t get my damn thoughts straight with you naked in front of me.”

“Yes please. But you can’t stay…”

“I know that. I wasn’t going to.” He pulls me against him until I feel the thick ridge of him pressing into my stomach. He pushes my hair from my face, his lips claiming mine. He tastes of toothpaste, his tongue lazily stroking mine as he slides his hand between my legs, checking if I’m ready for him.

And I am. So ready. He groans as he slides his finger into me, and I tighten around him.

“You’re gonna kill me, Carmichael.”

“Are you always going to call me that?” He slides his thumb against my clit and my words end in a gasp.

“Probably.” His lips smile against mine. Then he slides his palms along the back of my thighs and lifts me onto the bed, letting me go so I’m splayed out naked before him.

The way he looks at me makes my breath catch. His eyes roam over my body, his chest falling and rising. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you on this bed?”

“Before or after Exuma?” I ask him, curious.

“After. Before I just wanted to ring your neck.”

I start to laugh and he’s grinning, too, as he pulls down his shorts and walks toward me. His erection is impressive, bobbing as his legs hit the end of the bed. He’s brought a condom with him. He rips the packet and rolls it on.

“I’m not into choking,” I tell him.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, stroking himself. “Give us time.”

I think he’s joking. At least I hope he is. But I don’t get a chance to think about it anymore, because he’s claiming my mouth again, lifting my thigh to hook it around his waist as he pushes inside of me.

I let out a ragged breath.

“You with me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I tell him.

He leans on his elbows as he rocks his hips, his movements lazy as his eyes catch mine. It’s like he can’t stop looking at me. I’m not sure I can look away either. My breath catches as he finds the right spot to grind against.

I swear stars start to sparkle in front of my eyes.

“Look at me,” he tells me. “Don’t look away.”

His hand cups my face as he finds his rhythm. I move against him, loving the way he sends sparks right down to my toes every time he rocks into me. And I don’t move my gaze. It stays fixed on him.

It feels more intimate than having sex. I can’t remember the last time I stared at somebody for this long.

He pushes up to his hands, his palms flat on the mattress, and this time he hits a sensitive spot deep inside me. My eyes widen and I want to shut them but he shakes his head.

“Don’t stop,” I tell him.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

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