Page 39 of Rulebreaker
Complete control.
And I can’t have that–not in bed, not in my life, not when almost every interaction with this woman has already been the same: leaving me scrambling, leaving me flat-footed, leaving me at a loss and frustrated and–
“Fuck!” I growl when she reaches between my legs and cups my balls, massaging them lightly, causing my restraint to buck against its reins.
I’m close.
Tooclose.
So, I summon the modicum of self-control I have left, tug that tight, slick mouth off my cock…and I take advantage of her being naked.
“Atlas—” My name catches on her tongue.
Probably because I’ve bent her over the arm of the couch and kicked her legs wide.
“Shut up and take me,” I order, making quick work of rolling a condom down the length of my erection and notching myself at her entrance.
“I—” But she breaks off on a moan.
Likely because I’m thrusting deep, bottoming out, and fucking her fast and furious and without quarter.
There’s no time.
She’s wet and gripping me tight. I’m close to the edge and need her to topple with me.
And then we’re both falling apart, my name on her lips again, her pussy clamping tightly around me. Pleasure tears through me, making my strokes go unsteady, my vision hazy, my knees shake and threaten to crumple.
I lock them out, manage to stay upright, and ride the fucking wave.
It’s too fucking good, but then again, everything with this woman seems to be exactly that–
At least until she says, “I should go to bed.”
I.
I.
My temper spikes and I grind my teeth together, sending a bolt of pain through my jaw.
But I keep back the sharp words that want to escape.
The feeling of just being a fucking booty call to Lily when I’m living and breathing and thinking about her every goddamned moment persists, though.
I shove that down, right along with the words.
Then I scoop her up into my arms, carry her into the bedroom, and toss her onto the mattress.
“You—”
I don’t listen to whatever bullshit she’s about to spout, just go into the bathroom, take care of the condom, then wash my hands. And then–because I can’t help myself–Isnag a washcloth, wet it, and I walk back out into the bedroom.
“Atlas,” she begins.
I nudge her legs apart, make short work of taking care of cleaning her up too.
Then I launch the cloth through the open bathroom door and don’t delay in crawling into bed next to her.
“I have to get up early,” she says and I hear the unspoken brush-off.
