Page 17 of Drown in You

He steps so close, our chests nearly brush. Well, my chest and his abdomen. “Was it a boyfriend?”

I shake my head. “No. Not an ex either. Or a parent. They’re miles away, and there’s no point in talking about them anymore. Especially since we’re strangers and we’ll never see each other again. So maybe we can stop talking about this and you can fuck me now?”

I invited him up here to forget, not to rehash all of the shit that brought me here in the first place.

Lust glazes his features again. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you.”

Judging by the erection that’s as hard as a rock in his pants, I would’ve assumed he’s as ready to fuck me as he’ll ever be. Instead of flinging me onto the bed or guiding me to my knees to blow him, he drops to his own.

The sight of this enormous, sculpted man on his knees before me makes my heart skip. His wide, veiny hands slip around to the small of my back, calloused palms anchoring me in place as his lips brush against my stomach.

Against one of my bruises.

A casual one-night stand shouldn’t make my chest squeeze painfully, but with every brush of his lips against my bruises, he does. My stomach, my ribs, my thighs, my shins. I shiver despite the burning heat of desire pumping through my veins.

My eyes sting at his tenderness, and I quickly blink back the tears because there’s no way in hell I’m ruining this night by crying. I’ve never been more desperate to have a man inside me than this one, and I’m not going to screw it up.

His kisses are featherlight, yet each one sets me on fire. I want his mouth on mine.

When he rises and kisses the bruise on my shoulder, I grab his face and pull him to me.

Our lips meet in an unexpectedly gentle caress. I’m used to men only wanting to give me a few quick pecks or immediately sticking their tongues in my mouth.

But he’s different. Like his lips are hugging mine. Reassuring them that they’re here and they’re not going anywhere.

Except when I moan and his mouth turns feral.

He grabs my jaw with both hands and tugs me closer, lips roaming over mine and exploring, tasting, luxuriating. He just had his first taste of chocolate and now he’s going to inhale the entire box.

I’ve never failed to make a man come before, but this is the first time I’ve ever made a man devour me.

When he finally fists my hair and tugs my head back, exposing my neck to him, I whimper.

That unleashes him entirely.

He sucks on my neck, turning me to liquid in his arms. My knees are so weak, I can barely stay upright without hanging onto his huge biceps for dear life.

For the first time, my sounds aren’t exaggerated for a man’s benefit. Every moan and whimper and hiss that he wrings from me is a direct result of his expert mouth and hands on my skin.

He keeps one hand fisted in my hair while he leaves hickeys on my neck, and the other hand drifts to my panties.

My breath hitches. His finger trails along the waistband, goosebumps springing up at the contact.

“Are you going to tell me your name before I’m inside you?”

I’ll tell him my name, my address, my date of birth, my social security number if it means getting him inside me now?—

No. I need to get my shit together. “Let’s keep it a mystery.” I’m already embarrassingly breathless. “I don’t want you stalking me on social media after this and begging me to marry you.”

Not that I’m on social media anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I want sex, not a relationship. Plenty of guys think all they want is a fuck buddy, but most of them end up getting attached and wanting more. Or when you get bored and break it off with them, they take it fine at first until they’re crawling back three months later when they can’t get the memories of coming inside you out of their head.

But relationships aren’t for me. They always end in heartbreak. Since the divorce, I had to watch man after man break my mom’s already fragile heart. I picked up the pieces every time and reminded her to bathe and eat. I’ve witnessed the consequences of relationships, and I won’t put myself through that. Sex is enough to satisfy me, and if I can’t get that, some altruistic genius invented vibrators.

“Don’t worry.” He smirks, cradling my hips. “I won’t stalk you on social media.”

I shouldn’t find it insulting that a man who barely knows me doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me, especially when I don’t want one, but I can’t help the way my spine stiffens.

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