Page 57 of Fire Fight

My head spins as his thick fingers splay across my stomach, clutching me tight against his body. My back arches as I struggle but it just makes for a snugger fit. Giving me a rush of sensation as his hard cock presses against my arse.

My fingertips try to find purchase under the tight seal of his hand but fail—just like they failed against his hand on my leg.

“You don’t have to struggle,” he whispers in my ear, my nostrils filling with the giddy aroma of his aftershave, cedar, leather, and spice, all adding to the salt base of his morning swim. “Don’t you want me to take care of you?”

A tear slips from the corner of my eye. My will to resist evaporates.

Someone taking care of me sounds like a fantasy, just the words enough to trigger an instant seduction.

“I won’t hurt you.”

The promise awakens another fledgling fight response, easily calmed with the warmth of his splayed fingers. Especially as they carefully move farther down, over the curve of my hip, along my thigh.

They sneak under my hem and reverse direction, forcing a path past the elastic waistband of my panties to stroke my pussy, gliding inside, my arousal making it easy as he murmurs, “I only want to make both of us feel good.”

He spins us to face the mirror.

With my new hair and makeup, I look like a stranger. Someone who doesn’t mind the handsome man behind her exploring the soft curves of her body.

A girl who’s eager for his touch.

A girl who needs that makeshift gag over her mouth because otherwise the noises coming from her, muffled cries and moans and whimpers, would be loud enough to disturb the other patrons.

When he dips his finger inside me, my tight walls close around him and the shudder of his body triggers another surge of arousal.

I close my eyes, then open them, torn as his thumb circles my clit, coaxing my pleasure.

A second finger joins the first until my hips are grinding against his hand, pussy clenching and releasing in time with the thrusting rhythm of his fingers.

Then they move faster, no longer chasing pleasure but demanding it, setting the pace and waiting for him to comply.

He chuckles against the curve of my neck and the vibrations send another convulsion of shivers across my skin, my fingers reaching up to tangle through his hair, clenching to tug at thestrands while my other hand twists behind, finding his rock-hard bulge. My fingers explore, learning his shape and size, palm burning as he grinds his cock against me.

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

But the clamp across my mouth removes the need for verbal participation.

Drake’s the only one talking, the only one whose groans of need fill the room. He’s in control. He’s making this happen.

I have no choice.

And that thought alone gives me permission to melt under his touch, merely a passenger.

The orgasm builds deep inside, the need convulsing through my muscles until I clench tighter around his fingers, bump harder against the teasing stroke of his thumb on my swollen, needy clit.

He tips me forward, closer to the mirror. So close I can see the approaching orgasm in the reflection of my eyes.

I close them when it hits, knees buckling. My palms slap down on the cool bench, struggling to hold me upright as Drake sends wave after wave of ecstasy coursing through my body, clenching muscles fluttering around his fingers.

Only when the last shudder is spent does he ungag my mouth, curling the fingers inside me as he withdraws, plunging them into his mouth, throat working as he sucks them clean.

“You taste fucking delicious,” he murmurs, another deluge of arousal cascading over his fingers as he sends them back for more.

I can’t believe how sexy he looks.

How sexy webothlook.

Like I’m a voyeuristic stranger peering at a stolen moment of intimacy, their coupling the best turn on I’ve ever experienced.

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