Page 48 of Eight Second Hearts

“Tell me you want me,” he growls, his voice so thick, it’s almost animalistic. “Tell me to keep going.”

My fingers trail down to his abs, the muscles twitching with my touch. “Yes,” I hiss through my teeth. “Yes.”

“Beg for my cock,” he orders. “Beg me to bury myself in your sweet pussy.”

I clamp my lips shut. I’m not the kind to beg, and if this is a struggle for control, it’s going to remain a fight until the bitter end.

“Fuck me or don’t,” I grunt despite my head being held in the awkward position. “Either way, I won’t beg for it.”

He grins, clearly liking my answer. “You will,” he promises.

“I won’t,” I argue, reaching for his belt. “Now take off your fucking clothes.”

He releases my hair, and I think I’m going to win. Instead, he reaches for my t-shirt and drags it over my head roughly, making me growl in annoyance at the brief flash of blindness. Before I’ve even straightened, his hand is already on the hooks of my bra, popping them free, dragging it from my arms. His large hand cups my breast, the calluses sending electric bolts of pleasure through my body as the roughness scraps against my nipple. Meanwhile, my fingers dance far more clumsily over his belt buckle, tugging unsuccessfully for a minute until it loosensand I’m able to tug it free. He backs me up against the mattress until the backs of my knees find the edge. When I stop, he shoves me backward and I tumble back with an oomph, my hair falling over my face until I shove it back.

He stands over me, his eyes hooded, his cock straining against his zipper, his shirt hanging open around his shoulders. “I wish you could see how you look right now,” he groans, his hand reaching to the button of his jeans. He pops it open. “Angry, panting, like a fucking goddess, daring me to fuck you.”

I glare at him, my body warring with itself if I should give into the anger or the desire first. “You’re still talking,” I sneer.

His hand stops over his zipper just before he’d been about to reveal the cock I’m so hungry for. Disappointment fills me, but it’s not stronger than the anger. “I see you still think you’re in control here,periodista,” he purrs. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

He hooks my thigh and jerks my leg up, his fingers dancing along the laces of my combat boot. He makes quick work of loosening it before tugging the boot off and dropping it to the floor. He tugs my sock off after it, leaving my foot bare. He strokes his fingers along my foot, squeezing in an almost massage before he grabs my other leg and repeats the process. He leans down and flicks open the button of my jeans. He doesn’t bother unzipping them. Instead, he grabs the bottom of my jeans and drags them off my body in a quick movement that feels heavily practiced. I’m not going to lie. It’s sexy as hell.

I’m wearing my more practical underwear, definitely not sexy ones, but he looks down at me as if I’m wearing lace and silk. Those rough fingers wrap around my ankle, trail down my calf, circle my knee, before scraping down my thigh. I hold my breath, waiting for him to dip between them, but hiss it out through my teeth when he avoids where I want him to touch in favor of stroking along my hip bones at the edge of myunderwear. He hooks the edge and starts to drag them down, achingly slow, so slow I start to writhe in anticipation.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to fuck Ram. I’ve thought about it in detail, but nothing could have prepared me for the type of lover he actually is.

Teasing. Fiery. Cruel.

I hurry him along once he gets my underwear around my knees, kicking them off and spreading my legs, revealing my wetness to him. The smirk on his lips nearly does me in, but he fucking runs his hands along my legs again, teasing.

“Fucking do something!” I hiss, aching for his touch.

“Beg me to,” he shoots back.

“We’ve already discussed this,” I say, slapping my hands against the mattress.

His eyes crinkle in that frustratingly sexy way. “So we have.”

When his hands hook the back of my knees, I think we’re about to get somewhere. Instead, he jerks and twists, flipping me onto my stomach before I even know what’s happening. My eyes widen and I push up, intending to turn back over, but his hand on my back keeps me pinned to the mattress.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he purrs. “I promised you were going to beg for it,periodista.”

“You’re an asshole,” I growl, my fists gripping into the comforter as I turn my head to the side, trying to see what he’s doing.

His hand dips between my thighs and strokes up through my folds, finding my wetness there. He hums. “Apparently, you like that.”

“Fuck you,” I pant.

“Yes,” he groans. “That’s the plan.”

And then he presses a single finger inside me. I arch my back, giving him better access and he rewards me with another finger for my efforts.

“You can do better than that,” he says. I try to get my knees beneath me despite his hand on my upper back. “Come on,” he encourages, and fuck if it doesn’t make me try harder. My knees get purchase and I’m able to get my ass in the air despite the pressure on my back. The arch is steep, but I don’t fucking care right now. So what if I’ll pay for it tomorrow. I’ll just take my pills. “There we go,” he praises. “Good girl.” Pretty sure I start dripping down my inner thighs. “I think you deserve a reward for that.”

His fingers start moving inside me, slowing fucking me until I gasp into the comforter. He strokes slowly, searching along my inner wall until he finds the spot that makes my thighs shake and a moan slips from my throat.

“There it is,” he purrs as he curls his fingers into that spot. I whimper as I flood around his fingers, my body alive with pleasure. “Beg for it,” he commands again.