Page 73 of Mangled Memory
His arms band tight around me. “I may toy with you, but you’re never a plaything.” One arm goes low, cupping me between my legs. “You asked me to fuck you like we used to.” His middle finger strokes between my lips, finding my clit and thrumming it. “You were a freak, baby. Can’t say I didn’t love that too. Maybe we’ll get back there. Maybe we won’t.” He plants another kiss below my ear as a finger slides inside me. “What do you want?”
God, I wish I knew.My mindis on the tip of my tongue. “If I can’t remember, make me forget.”
He returns to the sofa, pulling me astride him. “I can do that, Ayla.”
Instead, I do it for myself. I lift, enough to straddle him, hovering just above his thick cock. Ever so slowly, I sink down, holding hiseyes, allowing the stretch of my body around his girth, finally—finally—getting some relief from the hungry ache he built while toying with me.
His groan echoes my own when he hits the end of me and is fully seated inside me. He looks as if he wants to say something, and I wait, fighting the need to move and the desire to keep this fullness.
My palms find his shoulders and I rise on my knees to lift when his hands hit my hips, holding me in place. “Wait. Give me a minute.” His eyes close in a slow dip. When they reopen, they’re blazing.
“What is it?”
He shakes his head, but answers, “I want to remember this moment… The feel of you surrounding my cock, everything down to the tickle of your hair against my skin. The smell of you, the sight of you above me, flushed cheeks, eyes fighting to stay open. These tits—” He thumbs a nipple before sliding his hand to my spine and pulling me toward him. His mouth hits my breast, and he sucks. Hard.
I gasp and do everything I can to keep his mouth while grinding down on his cock. I give up the need to do anything but rock against his dick inside me. No glides. No lifting. No domination or taking.
Christian releases my breast as his hand slides up my back to my neck, tugging me to his face, and kisses me so deeply, almost reverently.
He lets me go just enough to study me.
Face to face, eye to eye, our breaths panting across each other’s lips, my hair falls like an auburn curtain framing us in a world with nothing but the two of us.
The intimacy in his eyes, our carnal connection, the primal play at hand. When his thumb finds my clit, it sets off a wave inside me that’s been building, and I crash. “Oh—” I never finish the thought. Because the tide pulls me under, and I ride the orgasm that rockets through me.
I vaguely feel Christian’s hand leave my clit and return to my hip as he thrusts twice more and he grunts andcomes, holding me fully impaled on his cock. He lifts my left hand and kisses the knuckle right above my wedding ring. “Love you, Ayla.”
When I come back to myself, I lift a hand to his face and stroke my thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m getting there, Christian. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never, Princess.Never.”
It’s a vow.
23
antithesis
Ayla
“Can I take you on a date tomorrow night?” Lying in bed behind me, Christian moves my hair with his stubbled jaw.
Why do I get the feeling this is odd?
“Do you often ask?”
His warm breath hits my bare shoulder when he replies, “Not like this.”
“How then?”
“I usually have my assistant, Sandra, put work events on your calendar. Or I do it. But that’s business. This is us.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Trust me?” It’s a throw-away question said with a sultry, flirty tone, but it’s more. It’s imploring.
Now that I think about it, I think so. “I do,” I offer quietly. And I mean it.
His warmth at my back goes stock still, and his hand at my belly goes tight in a spasm, before pulling me tighter into his hard body. His lips hit my shoulder, his tongue snaking out to taste me there.
