Page 52 of Bedding Rose
I pull off him and lean back on my heels, putting a playful finger to my lips. “Quiet. You don’t want to get caught.” My eyes glance toward my bedroom door, which is locked. But after his gaze follows and our glances reconnect, I can tell that the possibility has energized both of us.
When my tongue goes back to lap at the underside of his cock, Angelo finally puts a hand on my head, threading his fingers through my curls and taking some control.
“Suck me.”
I take him into my mouth and his thighs tense. The dirty talk he spouted earlier at the party resurfaces as he says, “I thought about your mouth all night. I want you to leave lipstick stains on the base of my cock so I can see it tomorrow.”
Fuck.
The idea of him playing with himself in the shower and looking at the red marks left by my lips spurs me on to suck him in deeper, trying to push past my gag reflex. Even so, I can’t get my mouth all the way down on him—it’s impossible.
I pull back up, coughing and sputtering, but he grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet, kissing me hard and muttering, “Good girl. You’re such a naughty little cocksucker.”
I reach over into my desk and grab a condom packet out of the top drawer, ripping it open with my teeth and then carefully rolling it down his length before I straddle him again, this time sliding my legs through the gaps beneath the armrests so that my heels touch the ground.
We start another vicious makeout session, and this time he’s a whole-hearted participant. His hands come up and cup my breasts, circling my nipples, pinching them lightly. Tendrils of pleasure unfurl in my veins and heat gathers between my thighs. I grind against his length until I feel my own arousal coating it, my body crying out for more.
I break our kiss, rising up onto my feet a bit and reaching down between our bodies to line us up.
“It’s okay to not be okay,” he whispers. “At any time. We can stop and it will be okay.”
My throat nearly closes and I’m barely able to restrain another emotional avalanche.
No. No. I’m done with those. I’ve had enough for one evening. I just want the mindless bliss of an orgasm. I cope with Angelo’s sweet words by moving the hand not on his dick up to his neck. I wrap it firmly around his throat, as far as I can reach, squeezing lightly as I slowly sink down on him. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
I don’t know if my words or my hand silence him, or if it’s the fact that he stretches me so fully. I don’t really care. He feels so right and perfect inside of me, that it’s all I can think about.
I start to ride him, embracing the heat of him inside of me, relishing the glide of his cock when I change angles and he presses against my G-spot. God. Yes. That’s what I need.
Mindless.
Fucking.
Bliss.
“I mean it. We can stop,” Angelo’s words are choppy as he disregards my threat. Or maybe he likes being choked. I bring another hand up to his neck and complete a circle around it, collaring him, feeling the way his pulse flutters underneath my touch.
“You don’t get to talk like that,” I rasp out slowly, between thrusts that are stealing my breath.
“Why not?”
He only grins when I contract my fingers around his throat and start to ride him more savagely, my hips smashing down into his as a climax as violent as the way I’m throttling him approaches.
I don’t mean to answer. I really don’t. But the words spill from my lips as I reach the crest. “Because you’ll make me fall in love with you, estupido.”
That does it. That breaks the dam of his self-control. Any illusion that I was in charge, or that my hands did a damn thing around his monster throat, collapses as his hands come up to grasp my hips and he slams up into me. Red stars flash and fade behind my eyes, flares warning me of looming disaster.
I embrace the crash.
Angelo doesn’t stop, forcing me over the edge of my orgasm and roughly through it, a finger coming down to strum at my clit when I start to sag onto him, pushing me into a second orgasm as he groans, leaning down and biting at the juncture of my neck and shoulder as he finds his own release.
I crumple, falling limp onto him, having already forgotten our conversation. But he clearly hasn’t. His arms wrap loosely around my back and hold me on his lap as he whispers, “Good. Because that’s my diabolical plan. To make you fall so in love with me that you never want to leave.”
ROSE
Angelo—in typical over-the-top Angelo fashion—goes overboard with the whole no-bed thing.
The next morning, I’ve hardly woken up, barely stretched and yawned beneath my covers before I get a text from him.
