Page 67 of Fight or Flight
“You really think I’ll beg for it when I’m not even willing to ask nicely?”
“Yup.”
Using my grip on him, I yank him off the wall and tip him to the side. He lets out a squeal of surprise and tries to shove my hands away as he fights to regain his footing.
All that does is throw him even more off balance, and instead of having to wrestle him down, I end up guiding him so I can slow his fall enough that he doesn’t crash to the hard floor.
It’s no fun when he can’t fight back. And I have plans for him that will work better if he doesn’t have bruised ribs or a concussion.
He lands on the floor with a loudoof,and I throw one leg over him so I’m straddling his hips. He tries to shove me off him, but I just grab his wrists and pin them to the floor.
“We keep ending up like this,” I tell him as I press my ass down against his cock. “It’s almost like you enjoy having me on top of you.”
“Or maybe you enjoy having me under you,” he counters.
“I’ve never denied that I do.” Leaning down, I press my chest against his. “Now, are you going to admit that you like it as much as I do? Or are you going to keep pretending like your dick isn’t as hard as mine?”
He glares up at me, but he’s not fighting or telling me to get off him.
He wants this; he just can’t admit he does.
I let go of one of his wrists and reach between our bodies to cup his cock.
He moans softly and presses up into my touch.
“This doesn’t lie,” I tell him and give him a hard squeeze. “You want this.”
“Fuck you,” he grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind the words.
“And you want me.” Letting go of his other wrist, I sit back so my ass is on his thighs.
“I don’t,” he says almost petulantly.
“Liar.” Casually, like I’m undoing a ribbon on a present, I pop the button on his jeans, then slowly slide the zipper down.
“Not lying,” he grates out, but instead of pushing me off him, he balls his fists up and squeezes them so tight his knuckles go white.
“Sure you’re not.” Pulling theVof his fly open, I wiggle down his legs and lean down to press my lips against the soft material of his exposed underwear.
He lets out a muted grunt, like he’s trying really hard not to make a sound, and bucks up against my mouth. I can feel him under his briefs, hard and hot and begging for my mouth, and I push my tongue against his covered shaft.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his entire body going stiff in what I assume is an attempt to not press against me again.
Chuckling, I drag my tongue over his shaft, tracing it up until I feel the hard ridge of his cockhead. Playfully, I flick the tip of my tongue against his crown, then drop a sucking kiss over his head.
His breathing picks up, and I lift my eyes, my mouth hovering over his cock, and look at his face.
He’s staring at me with a mix of wonder and desire that sets my already heated blood on fire and makes my cock pulse as my balls draw up tight.
I don’t understand the chokehold Shane has on me, or why his every reaction is like an aphrodisiac when I usually have to force myself to stay in the moment when I’m with anyone else, but I’m not mad about it as I lick around his cockhead in teasing little strokes designed to drive him crazy.
“Fuck,” he groans. “That’s…”
“Remember what I said,” I say as I press soft kisses against his dick. “If you want more, you have to either ask nicely.” I pause so I can run my tongue over his length. “Or you can beg for it.”
“Not happening,” he says, but his breathy tone takes all the heat out of his words.
“We’ll see.” I nuzzle my nose against him and breathe in, letting the scent of clean skin, soap, and the musky, slightly spicy undertone that’s uniquely him fill my senses. “You smell good.” I rub my cheek against his dick. “Bet you taste even better.”
