Page 14 of Home to the Hollow

“Sugar, I can promise you that there isn’t a thing in the entire universe that’s gonna rush this. If I need to take more drastic measures to keep you still, I’ll do so.” A gentle tug on my nipple piercing and the wetness of his mouth dampening the fabric of my bralette punctuates his last remark.

I sure as fuck didn’t plan on this when I dressed for lounging in my house with a milkshake, but I’ll be damned if my legendarily fickle luck hasn’t struck again. A sharp rap on my hipbone brings me out of my thoughts, and I make a sound as the sting travels straight to my eager vagina.

“Get out of your head, Tilly. I want you present and accounted for, especially if that means you’ll give me more of that bratty attitude,” Edgar orders as he peels my top off and tosses it like it didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

I’d answer if I could speak, but since I can’t, I do the next best thing: I tug on his hair hard, pulling it in my best effort to give him the impertinence he asked for. I want him to fuck me, and I want it now, and if he doesn’t, I’m going to leap off this bed and find something to help my damn self.

As if he heard my thoughts, the bully from my youth dives in and takes a nipple in his mouth at the same time as his hand snakes right up the leg of my shorts. His elegant fingers strum over my mound, a low growl vibrating around my ring when he discovers that I’m commando under the waterlily shorts. His fingertips slide along my slit, spreading the embarrassing flood of wetness there, and I close my eyes. The shudder that rocks my frame is not subtle, and he lifts his head, blowing cool air on the stiff peak he was suckling.

His voice is a whisper against my stomach as he moves down my body, trailing kisses and nibbles and sharp bites like he’s tasting me. He yanks the shorts off quickly, his voice low and snarling. “Tilly, I’m going to make you scream so loud the neighbors will wonder if someone murdered you. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to break this motherfucking bed, so you have to buy a new one—preferably larger.”

The last addition makes me snort, and his lips curve into a smile against my skin. He doesn’t know that I don’t intend to do this ever again, especially since we’ll be working together, but if it makes him feel like he’s in charge, he can pretend to demand things.

Then his mouth touches me and every fucking thing I’ve learned in my damn life falls out of my head. His lips graze the bare skin lightly, tracing around the shape of my sex slowly. The tip of his tongue follows the same path, and I want to scream in edged frustration, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I dig my nails into the ugly ass comforter and physically will myself not to move or make a sound.

Mostly because I’m afraid if I let one slip, I’m going to turn into the banshee he promised, and I’ll never live that shit down.

“I said, get out of your head, Tilly,” he murmurs, before flicking his tongue over my clit so quickly that I almost think I imagined it.

The shocks flying up my frame disagree, and I bite back another groan. I amsoincrediblyfuckedand I don’t mean by that monster I felt rubbing against me earlier—at least, not yet.

I lift my head, opening my eyes to look down at him lounging between my thighs as he waits for me to do as instructed. His lips glisten with my juices, and his fingers are tapping the apex of my pussy in a light rhythm that’s making my thighs shake. If I had use of my mouth, I’d snark about performance anxiety, but I tuck my chin, bite the scarf in my mouth, and smile invitingly.

His eyes widen and he tilts his head for a brief second before throwing my legs over his shoulders and fucking devouring me. Lips, teeth, and tongue go wild on my slick heat, and my legs fold around him so tightly that I worry I might actually suffocate him. The sound he makes when he thrusts two fingers inside of me and bites my clit is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. There’s a slight pinch and before I know it, my mind is flying like I’m on molly.

Blinking, I arch my back and let out the longest, loudest moan I’ve ever heard come of out of my body as spasms make my limbs jerk and twitch. The orgasm feels like it’s wringing every drop of energy from my body, and my fingers tear into the comforter for purchase. Something soft and feathery coasts over my thighs, tickling the sensitive skin and making me writhe more.

My heart thuds, my blood crashes through my veins like I’m going to explode, and my lungs can’t seem to find enough air to fill them. His skin is a furnace against mine, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how he got naked without me noticing.

As I tremble, Edgar slithers his way up my body, his eyes shining brilliantly as he removes the makeshift gag and ducks his head to kiss me. Our mouths battle and before I can recover from the intensity of my climax, his hips jerk and he’s inside of me. The stretching of my muscles to accommodate him burns, fanning the liquid lava in my veins, and something deep in my belly stirs.

I lift my arms, wrapping them around him, and digging my nails into his hips hard. He must like it, because a snarl followed by a soft sound echoes out of him. When he moves, I try to find my bearings, but my mind is scattered and euphoric as the sensations sizzle over my skin. There’s no coming back from this experience, and I’m not a girl who has lacked for sexual partners when I chose to find them.

Edgar Olivier Boone III is ruining me, and I can’t find a single fiber of my being that seems to care.

“Son of abitch,” he whispers as he lifts his head to allow us both to catch our breath, his hips still pounding against mine.

The sheer force of our coupling may actually break the goddamned bed as he promised, and the spark in my belly that stirred grows. I can feel warmth seeping out of me like tendrils of energy licking over my skin to get to him. When it reaches him, his head jerks up from my neck, and his eyes flash from aquamarine to a deep black and back again. His chest rumbles and his hips speed up, moving impossibly fast with mine, driving me into the mattress like a prowling beast.

The moment the second orgasm hits me, I know it triggered his because an unearthly roar escapes his lips, and he throws his head back as our bodies tense. A cool wind comes out of nowhere, breezing over us in a gentle touch, and a low whisper of sound accompanies it. Holding onto him tightly, I ride out our pleasure as our limbs stutter and fall to the bed.

“Drugar.”

That’s the last thing I hear before everything goes dark.

Small Town Girl

Did anyone get the plate on that fucking semi?

My eyes fight me as I pry them open through sheer force of will. The light pouring into the guest room is so bright that it makes me want to hurl, and I know I didn’t drink more than a glass of bourbon with…

Holy goddamned frog balls—Edgar.

I. Fucked. Edgar. Olivier. Boone. III. Last. Night.

If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t believe me, either. Speaking of which, I look around to find that I’m nestled on the couch—not in the bedroom—and there’s a suspiciousabsenceof dude I banged anywhere to be seen. Of bloody course he took off like his ass was on fire. I’ve known the douche my entire life; I should have seen this coming—typical dude bro, skating the second he hits it.

Closing my eyes, I think back to what I can sort out in my hazy brain, and frown. I mean… it was pretty spectacular. I’m not gonna tell him—obviously—but that was easily top five material for my mental spank bank. It’s odd that he fucked off without even leaving a note.

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