Page 80 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
I stuffed my face into his neck, stifling a moan as he worked himself deeper and deeper, cursing and panting and groaning softly in my ear. Until he was buried all the way inside, stretching me to an inch of my life. It was pure, unimaginable bliss.
And everything—every other thought, or worry, or desire I may have had in that moment—melted away.
A thick glaze settled over my thoughts as my body purred; I was breathless.
It wasn’t until he whispered my name that I came back to myself. It was done in such a soft, broken way that it snagged my attention, drawing me to his voice.
Our fingers were laced again, somehow.
“Alice.”
Again, that tone.
I let out a sigh, my eyelids fluttering as his hips finally moved again, retreating a few inches before pushing back in. My toes curled.
He groaned in my ear like I’d put a knife in his chest.
“Fuck, you feel… I’m already…”
One more thrust, and we both let out a weak, crumpled noise. I was dizzy by the time we fell into a somewhat coherent rhythm, our bodies writhing in perfectly effortless unison. I’d never felt anything like it. Never climbed toward a climax so quickly from penetration or worked so hard to ward it off, wanting—needingthe moment to last just a little longer.
Desperation and agony settled over our breaths, the subtle, lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin threatening to cling to the walls of my bedroom and haunt me for as long as I lived here.
Still, it was worth it.
“Fuck, I… let go, Alice,” Dom pleaded in my ear. He released my hand, slipping his fingers between my thighs. “Come on. Come for me. I know you can.”
I sank my teeth into my lower lip, fighting against the storm rumbling through me.
Not yet…
“Come on.” He worked my clit with his thumb and index finger, rolling and flicking and pinching until the effort it was taking for me to cling to the cliff’s ledge became unbearable.
I whined, bucking against him as pleasure snapped through me like a live wire.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his own thrusting becoming increasingly wild and erratic. Until he was fucking me straight into the bed, hard and untethered. “Come for me, Alice. Please. I can’t… I’m…fuck.”
It was the vicious grunt, the tensing of his muscles, and the thick, throbbing feel of his release that yanked me over the edge. I buckled with a shattered cry as he rammed into me one final time, his fingers relentless.
White-hot pleasure exploded in my core, its fiery tendrils reaching every nook and cranny in my body. My muscles clenched and quivered and shook until I thought I might black out. Then it was over, and I collapsed, a puddle of useless, satiated goo.
Neither of us said a word.
Neither of us moved to peel ourselves away, pull him out, or fumble with post-sex awkwardness. We simply lay there, in our bliss, until, finally, he collected enough energy to trail kisses over my cheek and jaw, neck and shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” he murmured.
My vocal cords were charred, my heart was overflowing with the gentle purr of something velvety soft and terrifyingly addictive, and my head was stuffed full of sugar-sweet, tingling cotton candy. So the only thing I could do in response was shut my eyes and give a delicate hum of agreement.
Then he kissed me, warm, deceptively adoring for what felt like hours.
The second time he fucked me, it was even more tender and smooth and heart-achingly affectionate than the first. He held my hand. Kissed me softly, deeply, and gazed down at me like he might die if he went too long without drinking me in.
There was no dirty talk. No playing pretend. No playful torturing, or begging, or pleading like I’d planned. There were no walls, nothing to hide behind, and nowhere else to look.Every time I tried, his palm would find my cheek and turn me back to him.
By the third round, reality set in.
But the damage was already done, and we both knew it.
