Page 3 of The Wrong Move

His nostrils flare. “I love your breasts.” He squeezes each in his large hands, pushing them together and up like an offeringhe’s about to take. He kisses each breast, his gaze then lifting. “Along with your plump lips. God, I want to fuck them.”

Oh.

Byron drops to his knees. My panties are tugged down, and my dress is next, pooling on the hardwood. Running his hands up and down my skin, he kisses my pussy, then licks and sucks my clit. He spreads my thighs and stares. Byron doesn’t move. I lean my hands on his shoulders for balance and realize he’s staring at the glistening skin between my legs.

I am so wet.

My pussy throbs, aching with the need to have Byron inside me. With both of his hands cupping my rear, he yanks my hips forward and tastes me, smearing my wetness over his lips. His tongue trails over my pussy and down my inner thigh, tasting every part of my orgasm.

“You send me wild, Gi.”

“I do?”

Byron springs to his feet. Only now, I notice his blue T-shirt that matches his eyes. He rests one hand on my hip as his gaze flicks over my face. Confusion mars his expression—a look I match as I realize his pupils are more dilated than usual.

“Yes, Giana. So fucking wild. Tell me again why you decided on a different college than me?”

What?

I flinch at the harshness in his tone.

Originally, we were both intending to study at UCLA so that we could be close to home. It offered great sports and arts programs. When Byron switched to St. Mary’s to accept a full basketball scholarship, I decided on the college best for me. St. Mary’s is less than four hundred miles from home, and I could have seen Byron frequently during the year if we were a couple.

However, the notion of being surrounded by strangers on the other side of the country calmed me. It was the adventure Icraved. So I accepted an offer from Yale. The thought of living close to New York excited me, though I had underestimated the weather. Freezing my ass off in winter was not my idea of an adventure, even with regular trips to the Big Apple with my friends.

I cup his cheek in my hand. “You know why.”

My words fail to have the effect I’d hoped. His brows tighten, he grabs my hand, and guides it away from his face.

“I needed you here in LA,” he growls out.

He did not just say that.

“You told me to do what was best for my career, as you did by choosing St. Mary’s,” I say, louder than I intended.

“What was best for your art was studying at UCLA,” he says between clenched teeth.

“Says you,” I snap.

His mouth collides with mine as he kisses me hard, his tongue circling and tasting, stealing my air until I’m out of breath. He sweeps his hands over my torso, then my shoulders, in erratic movements as though he is lost, unsure what do to next. I break his kiss, panting.

This is not the Byron I know.

“Why are you upset with me?” I ask.

He grabs my shoulders and stares at me as though I’m clueless. “Because I need you close to me.”

“Then you should have accepted UCLA, and I would have stayed with you.”

“Giana,” he says, as though reprimanding me. He whips me around, and I reach for the back of the chair to balance myself. A guttural sound comes from deep in his throat. “Fucking perfect.” His hands slide over my ass before spreading my legs wider. I hear foil tearing. Looking over my shoulder, I watch Byron slide the condom over his thick cock. I have half a mind to say no so I can find out what is eating at him and why he is like this. Only,the sight of his erection has me wet and ready, and I can never say no to Byron. He does something to my body no other man can.

One finger strokes my pussy, a single teasing circle. Byron lifts his finger to his mouth and sucks it slowly. His gaze is locked on mine as I watch him from over my shoulder. His eyes darken. “Hold on,” he growls, his breath raspy and raw with need.

I arch my back, gasping when he pushes inside me. He holds for a moment and waits another second before withdrawing and thrusting inside me again. My breath hitches as I’m torn between pleasure, pain, and anticipation. I reach around to touch his thigh, his arm, any part of him.

“I said hold on, Gi.”

Gripping my shoulders, Byron plows into me at a frantic pace. Our ragged breaths and the slapping of skin on skin fill the room. I lift onto my toes, offering him more. My breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts. Turning my face to the side, our eyes meet in the wall mirror. He leans over my back and seizes both my breasts, using them to maintain a steady rhythm as he tweaks and rubs each nipple. My breath is strangled as I try to contain the bliss of an impending orgasm. Uncontrolled pleasure rips through my body, bringing me close to a scream, the pressure of standing almost too much for my knees.

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