Page 151 of Red Flag
“I don’t want you to call Trina,” I said, acclimatising to how much shorter I was than him out of my heels. “I don’t want to be in my head. I want you to touch me. I want you to distract me.”
He stepped back. “Livie—”
“I need you to distract me,” I begged, following him and pulling at his top. “Distract me.”
We hadn’t had sex since that quickie in my hotel room weeks ago.
He’d cuddled me, let me lie on top of him at night, but we hadn’t touched each other like that.
I didn’t have the energy.
“I want you to know that I love you,” I told him, looking up at his concerned expression. He clearly wanted to help my pain. “I want you to know that you can touch me. If we’re talking about what happened. If I’m crying. You’re not him.”
He swallowed and took my hand from his shirt to hold. “On one condition. We’re introducing yellow flag. If we’re doing anything you think is too much — you want a breather, you want me to check in but don’t want to completely stop, you are going to yellow flag it. If you want to stop, it’s the same as usual — red flag.”
I nodded, pressing my chest into his.
“The signal.”
I raised our safe sign.
And I threw myself at him, quite literally. He caught me and held my legs around his waist as he kissed me back, slower than usual, startled.
But I put more energy into the kiss, more desperation. I needed his hands in my hair, I needed the air out of my lungs, I needed to choke on his cock.
I just needed to be away, off the ground, in his arms.
He kissed down my neck but it wasn’t enough. I jumped down from his legs and dragged him to the living room. I didn’t have the patience to get to our bedroom. I pushed himdown onto the sofa and stripped before him. But it wasn’t sensual; it was me throwing my clothes off, not caring where they ended up, and then I was on his trousers, unbelting him, lifting his thin-knit jumper off him.
It hadn’t been a minute since I’d given the safe signal.
Poor guy must have had whiplash.
The living room was dark — I hadn’t given him the time to turn the lights on — but I could still make out the grooves of his stomach, the muscle of his arms as I pulled him on top of me.
He was no longer cautious, rubbing his cock up and down my slit. When he caught my clit with the smooth touch of him, I gasped.
His tongue flicked against my nipple and I closed my eyes, trying to enjoy the sensation.
“I’m going to need a bit of pain with my pleasure,” I told him, breathless.
He twisted my nipple as he sucked on the other.
It wasn’t enough.
I wanted so much pain that if I had been drugged, I would have woken up.
I needed to feel it.
“Harder.”
I felt the scrape of his beard down my stomach to my pussy.
Vinnyhad a beard at the time.
How had his beard felt against me? Had I been conscious of it happening?
I screwed my eyes up further, forcing myself to feel it all.
