Page 15 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

Bold, golden-green eyes narrow on me, daring me to challenge his claim over me and demanding that I let him take what he wants.

It sets off an inferno in my bloodstream.

I want this man every bit as much as he wants me.

“Fuck me now,” I demand.

He grins, and before I can question it, he’s withdrawn to stand at the edge of the bed. He unbuttons the white business shirt and removes it. A plain undershirt conceals the rest of his body from me, but he doesn’t take it off. Instead, he crisply folds the button-down longways and sets it on the dresser.

Wick makes adamant eye contact with me while he unbuckles his belt, unhooks the clasp on his waistband, and lowers the zipper on his slacks. They fall to the floor and find the same fate as the shirt, quickly folded and abandoned on the dresser.

“You’re still too dressed,” I chastise.

He tilts his head sideways and lowers the band on his boxer briefs. He strokes his thick, hard cock for me to see.

“Is this what you want?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck me now or I’ll find someone who will.”

Wick growls and snatches at my ankle. He yanks my leg and pulls me to the edge of the bed. Plastic crinkles, but I’m too busy giggling at his manhandling.

He plants one knee on the bed under my open legs.

“Touch yourself for me, Grace,” he instructs.

My skin is soft, but my hand still shakes while I slide it between my legs. Wick watches me for a moment and revels in the view.

“I could watch you do this every day and never get tired of it,” he says.

The thought of him watching me masturbate in non-salacious circumstances boils my blood and sets my nerves on fire.

He positions himself at my opening and slowly pushes his cock into me.

The stretch is uncomfortable, and my fingers fly to convince my body to adjust.

He’s a lot bigger than Trent. Like,a lot.

I’m not used to it. He’s going to destroy me and he doesn’t even know it.

I consider saying something, but I don’t want him to know my ex was such a letdown and yet I stayed.

Wickham Barrett is the type to re-write all of that. Being with him is a major hike in standards. I make a little promise to myself to never backslide on this again. I’m tired of kissing small-dicked frogs.

He slides into me, my pussy soaked from his tongue and the building anticipation. He grins like an idiot while watching us join.

“Wick,” I moan. “Stop teasing me.”

He grabs my legs and plants an ankle on his shoulder. I press against it, and it makes my whole lower body tense from my abdomen down to my calves.

And I can squeeze his cock with every thrust if I pulse it right.

We work like that for a solid minute, with Wick taking measured thrusts while I tense to encourage him to go harder.

Muscles quake, and the vision of him pumping into me with finite control leaves me both breathless and frustrated.

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