Page 75 of Scrimmage

Koda’s arms slide around me and his palms travel up my torso, grabbing at me. “I don’t want to talk about Harry fucking Potter, baby girl.”

“Wait, you didn’t bring me here to chat?” I giggle, but when he slides his hand under my waistband I lose any semblance of keeping up with being a brat.

“You want to talk?” His hands slide up and play with my nipple piercings. I don’t even know how to handle it. I’m fucking overstimulated and more than a little drunk. “Go ahead and talk. I’m listening.”

I can’t help but to rise to the challenge. “Why does it look like a fucking serial killer’s house?” My voice squeaks at the end when he tweaks the piercings.

“I like things a certain way. When did you get your nipples pierced?” He pinches them, forcing me to blink a few times and reorient myself.

“When I was sixteen.”

“I want to see them. Lift your arms.”

I follow his orders, letting him pull off my top then turn me to face him. He palms my breasts, squeezing them. “You have great fucking tits.”

“I know,” I smirk, reaching down and feeling how hard he is. He bites his tongue, those dark irises roving over me.

He releases them and grabs my ass, pushing me into him. “And that ass.” He sucks in a breath. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers. I’m not sure he even realizes he said it out loud.

Before I can retort, he kisses me again. It’s fucking consuming. His lips are soft, and I can’t think. He unbuttons my jeans and backs me through a doorway until I fall back onto a bed. His tongue is like magic in my mouth, thrashing with mine, but it’s gentle. It’s not like someone shoving something down your throat. Koda knows what he’s doing.

He lets me breathe while he pulls my jeans off, and I get a look at him. His muscles flex when he pulls his shirt off, and his jeans hang low on his hips. He has abs that are to die for, but not so chiseled that it makes me sick. He kisses me again while I shimmy out of my underwear, and then he shrugs off his pants. The next time we kiss I bite his lip and pull.

“Careful, Ashland. I might get the wrong idea.”

“I think you’ve got the right one.”

He flips me over and smacks my ass right where the brand is. He still hasn’t asked me about it, and he doesn’t now. He squeezes roughly, then slides his palm through my wetness, coating his fingers in my juices before slapping my pussy.

“Fuck, stop playing with me and start fucking me,” I groan.

“I told you I would make you come. I didn’t say it would be fast.”

His words are wicked and tantalizing. Koda is going to torture me in the best fucking way, and I don’t know why I was ever fighting this in the first place.

He slides the head of his cock through my slit. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Do you have a condom?”

My head snaps back, Koda’s fist in my hair. The roots burn, and I know I’m soaking him.

“I want you to understand something, Ashland. I’m not some frat boy loser you fuck when you’re blackout drunk. You’re done with that. If you want to talk shit and pretend you hate me outside of this room, you can. But when we’re here, I’m gonna edge you for every single time you make me want to fuck you and I can’t. When I text you, don’t send me a picture of you with your middle finger and your tongue out, because that’s just an invitation for me to put my dick in your throat. If you get drunk and want sex, you’re going to call me. You’re going to be my good little slut, and I’m not going to wear a goddamn condom, because you only fuck me. Got it?”

He could have just said no.

I’m aware that we keep having raw sex. It’s serial. That makes this more than just some one night stand. I don’t want sex with him; I crave it. Some frat boy loser won’t slap me, choke me, and make me come, and Koda knows it.

“So demanding,” I give a strangled laugh. “You’re fucking Stacy. Hardly seems fair.”

He leans down to my ear. “I have never fucked any of the Stacy’s. They can’t give me what I want.”

I quiver at his words. It’s a sick promise of what’s to come. “I’m not giving you a goddamn thing.”

“Too fucking bad. Guess I’ll just take it then.” He lets me go and shoves me down on the bed in one move.

The fucker is strong. He drags me to the edge of the mattress and sticks two fingers in quickly before adding another. He doesn’t pump his hand but curls his fingers causing my hips to buck. “Don’t be such a slut.”

I can’t say anything, because the way his fingers massage me inside have my body confused as fuck. I don’t know if I want to come or cry. His thumb circles my clit lightly at first, then he presses it until I squeal, and his hand disappears.

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