Page 19 of Twisted Play
“Sparrow,” he growled, crowding me against the door. His arms caged me in, his body radiating heat and strength. I felt small, vulnerable, trapped, and, god help me, I liked it. “Let me take you to dinner this week.”
My breath caught as he pressed closer. I imagined saying yes, imagined what it would be like to date him openly, to have him look at me the way he was looking at me now, like I was something precious and rare.
Then reality crashed back. “How about you take no for an answer?” I snapped, as much to convince myself as him.
“How about no.” His lips found my neck, teeth grazing a sensitive spot beneath my jaw that made my knees weak. The scrape of his stubble against my skin sent shivers down my spine, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. A traitorous moan escaped me as heat flooded my core.
Before I could protest, he spun me around, pressing me face first against the door. The wood was cool against my cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind me. His hands slid up my thighs, under my dress, finding me bare and already wet.
“Cole, don’t,” I breathed, even as my body arched into his touch. I wanted to hate how easily he played me, how quickly my body surrendered to his commands, but I couldn’t, not when his touch set me on fire, burned away everything but need.
“Hands on the door,” he commanded.
I obeyed without thinking, my palms flattening against the wood. The sharp crack of his hand against my ass shocked a gasp out of me. The sting bloomed into pleasure so intense, I moaned. The sound of my own voice—needy, desperate, wanton—was unrecognizable.
“You really thought you could sneak out?” he growled, his voice dark with possession. “When you’re such a perfect slut for me?”
His fingers kneaded the flesh of my ass, my thighs, appreciative and reverent despite the roughness. “Sofucking beautiful,” he murmured. “These curves were made for my hands.”
He pressed against me, his cock hard against my lower back. “Feel what you do to me, Eva? Feel how much I want you?”
I should have been embarrassed by how my body responded to his praise, but instead, I pressed back against him, craving more. What was happening to me? I’d never been so affected by someone’s touch, by their words, never wanted to surrender so completely.
“I love these thighs,” he whispered, sliding his hands up to grip them, spreading me wider. “So soft, so strong. Perfect for wrapping around my head while I taste you.”
His words made me dizzy with want. No one had ever spoken to me like this, like my body was something to be worshipped rather than tolerated.
When he pushed inside me, the stretch burned deliciously. I was sore from the night before, but my body welcomed him like he belonged there, like he owned me. The fullness, the pressure, the way he hit spots inside me I didn’t know existed—it was overwhelming, all-consuming.
“Fuck, Eva,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You feel like heaven. So tight, so wet for me.”
He moved slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, making me feel every inch of him. His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breasts through my dress, thumbs brushing over my nipples until I whimpered.
“That’s it, sparrow,” he praised, picking up his pace. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
In that moment, maybe he did own me.
“Look at you taking me so well,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “So perfect, so responsive. Like you were made for my cock.”
One hand slid around to cup my stomach, holding me steady as he thrust deeper. “Love how soft you are here,” he said, his touch reverent. “Tell me how good this feels,” he urged, his voice husky with need. “Be my good girl and tell me you want this as much as I do.”
“Cole, please,” I begged, not sure if I was pleading for him to stop or never stop. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—breathy, desperate, almost sobbing with need.
His hand slid up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his strength, of my vulnerability. “Tell me you feel this too, sparrow, before you walk out this door and never look back.”
The words spilled from my lips before I could stop them, shocking me with their rawness, their honesty. “I want you,” I gasped, surrendering completely. “I want this. I want?—”
His other hand found my clit, circling with just the right pressure. “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect. Come for me, Eva. Let me feel you.”
His praise pushed me over the edge. I came with a wail, my entire body convulsing around him as pleasure crashed through me in relentless waves. Stars burst behind my eyelids, my legs trembling, threatening to give out entirely.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic. “So fucking good for me.”
I felt him pull out, felt the hot splash of his release across my skin—another mark of ownership, another way of claiming me. It should have disgusted me. Instead, I felt a perverse pride in being marked this way, in carrying a piece of him with me.
He pressed his forehead against my shoulder, his breath coming in harsh pants. For a moment, we stayed like that,connected, intimate in a way that terrified me more than the sex itself.
Afterward, I fled without looking back, my legs shaky, my mind reeling. Each step sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain through my overused body. As I stumbled down the stairs, I pulled his shirt tighter around me, breathing in his scent.
