Page 70 of Can't Stop Watching
His hand tangles in my hair, pulling back just enough to arch my spine. The new angle makes me see stars.
"Fuck, Lila," he grunts, his rhythm relentless. "So. Fucking. Tight."
Each word punctuated with a thrust that hits something deep inside me. My arms give out, but he holds me up, one arm around my waist now.
"I can't—" My words dissolve into incoherent sounds as he drives into me harder. My body's being pulled taut like a wire about to snap.
The intensity of his movements makes my vision blur at the edges. There's a moment where it's almost too much—where the pleasure borders on something else—and Dane must sense it because he slows, his breath hot against my ear.
"Should I stop?" he asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back.
"Don't you dare," I manage to gasp out, the words more desperate than I intended. Apparently, dignity left the chat about five minutes ago.
He takes me at my word, resuming his punishing pace, each thrust driving me further into the mattress. The headboard slams against the wall—sorry, Mrs. Kapoor next door—but I'mbeyond caring about noise complaints or tomorrow's awkward hallway encounters.
My entire world has narrowed to this—to the delicious drag of him inside me, to the grip of his hands on my hips that will definitely leave marks, to the grunts and curses falling from his lips.
"God, Lila," he growls, one hand leaving my hip to tangle in my hair again.
He pulls just hard enough to arch my back further, changing the angle again, and I cry out as he hits a spot that sends electric currents racing through my body.
The pain and pleasure swirl together in a way that makes no logical sense—the sting of my scalp, the burning stretch between my legs, the pressure of his fingers digging into my hip—it should hurt. It does hurt. But somehow my brain is translating every sensation into pure, unfiltered pleasure.
One of my undergrad roommate once described great sex as "hurts so good" while I rolled my eyes at the cliché. I owe her an apology text tomorrow.
"Come for me," he commands, voice rough like he's running out of control.
I want to—God, I want to—but it's like I'm stuck at the edge, my body tensed and waiting for something just out of reach.
"I don't know if I can," I admit, frustration bleeding into my voice.
Most guys would double down on what they're already doing, or worse, get all weird and stressed about it. Dane just says, "Yes, you can," with such absolute certainty that I almost believe him.
He releases my hair, both hands returning to my hips. For a second I think he's just going to pound harder—the typical male solution to every bedroom problem.
Instead, I feel one hand slide up my spine in a surprisingly tender gesture before both hands move to my ass. His thumbs part my cheeks and I tense slightly, not sure what to expect.
The gentle pressure of his thumb against my back entrance sends a shock through me—not revulsion but something surprisingly like curiosity mixed with arousal. It's not something I've ever done, but the careful way he circles the sensitive skin there while still pushing deep inside my pussy creates a sensation that's completely new.
"Oh my god," I gasp, my forehead dropping to the mattress again.
He doesn't push inside, just maintains that light pressure, that teasing circle, while his thrusts become more measured, more deliberate.
"Let go," he murmurs. "I've got you."
And something about the combination—the reassurance, the fullness inside me, the taboo touch of his thumb—finally pushes me over. The orgasm crashes through me with unexpected force, tearing a sound from my throat that is wild and unrecognizable to my own ears.
My entire body convulses around him, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it's almost like pain.
I feel him swell inside me, his rhythm becoming erratic. Dane falls forward, covering my back with his chest, one arm wrapping around my waist to hold me against him as he comes with a deep, guttural groan against my neck. His body shudders against mine, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress. We stay like that for a moment, both of us trembling and slick with sweat.
"Jesus," he breathes against my skin, his voice wrecked. "You're incredible."
I make some unintelligible sound in response. My brain's offline, still floating somewhere near the ceiling.
He slips out of me slowly, making me wince slightly, and rolls to his side, bringing me with him so I'm cradled against his chest. For a minute, we just breathe together, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip.
"Such a good girl," he murmurs into my hair, pressing a kiss to my temple. "So perfect."
