Page 68 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Lungs straining, chest heaving, I yanked on my own roots as I stared her down, willing her to stop. To move away. She didn’t. She took more, longer between breaths, her hand squeezing my shaft in between to stop the pleasure so close to overtaking me. It would drown out the ache, and I didn’t want that either.

I wanted it over. Wanted it to last forever.

I drove my hands into her hair and she moaned as if I’d given her a benediction. I wrapped it around my wrists, silken ropes binding us together, as she did something with her tongue and pulled me over the precipice.

Tugging me down with her into the salvation of her blue eyes and her giving, yielding throat.

I dropped my head back to try to get oxygen. To breathe through this madness. But right away, I had to seek her eyes again. I couldn’t tear my gaze from hers. She didn’t close her eyes, and I couldn’t close mine. She was the center of my universe as I drained everything I could no longer carry into her.

And she took it. Every bit of me. No hesitation. No judgment.

She finally released my spent shaft and lowered her head to inhale long, shaky breaths. Her shoulders shuddered, only going still when I reached down and cupped her elbows, drawing her up against my body. Her mouth was used and wet, messy from her lip gloss and what I’d left behind. I kissed her again, tasting myself on her tongue. Sucking on it while she swayed in my hold and clung to me as if her knees wouldn’t hold her.

God knows mine were barely keeping me upright.

I picked her up, tossing her over my shoulder in a standard fireman’s carry. The Daisy who’d walked in this room would’ve fought me. Slammed her not-so-fragile fists into my back and driven her knee into whatever parts of me she could reach.

This one went limp.

I threw her on the bed and she didn’t move from the spot where she landed. Her hair splayed around her. Her arms and legs fell wide. The lace hugged her sexy body obscenely, showing me every delicious inch I wanted to violate.

To mark as mine even though she wasn’t.

Would never be, except here and now.

I reached behind my head to pull off my shirt. The whole time she watched me, no part of her moving but her eyes and her chest, rising and falling. Leaning forward, I snagged the little bow between her breasts, meant to adorn them. I used it to pull her toward me, tossing it aside when it came off in my hand. She didn’t blink when I loomed over her, planting my hands on either side of her shoulders.

The tentative brush of her fingers over my tattoo had me rearing back. I didn’t question myself. I couldn’t do this if she was going to keep touching me. It was enough I couldn’t cover her eyes. Because I wanted her to see who I was in living Technicolor, so she wouldn’t keep lying to herself that I could be worthy of someone like her.

I grabbed the sheet, yanking it out from underneath her. Her eyes went wide as I ripped it apart and moved to secure her wrists to the bedposts. I had to drag her up the bed to do so, but she didn’t fight me. Didn’t speak at all as she watched me destroying us.

We didn’t have an us. For very good reason.

Once her wrists were secured, I slipped my finger into the crude cuffs I’d made. It was far from the safest or most comfortable, but this wouldn’t last long. “Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if they did?”

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you could’ve just said.” Her voice sounded rusty. Breathless. Raw like I bet I’d made her throat.

There were lots of things I should have said.

I walked to the end of the bed and shoved the trunk out of the way before I drew her legs wide. The red lacy thing had a strategically placed snap. I undid it and her bare pussy gleamed up at me, so wet I had to swallow hard.

She’s turned on. Not scared. Guess you calculated wrong.

I leaned down and opened her up for my mouth. Ruthlessly, I devoured her, tasting every bit of what she’d made for me. Using lips, tongue, teeth, and fingers, I tore her apart as surely as I’d ripped the sheet. She writhed against my face, her legs trembling, her face flushed and her temples dotted with sweat. I stopped and drew my mouth away, my fingers still busy, my thumb working her clit. Keeping her system humming without giving her the relief she craved.

Then when she started to calm, her wrists relaxing against the sheets that held her fast, I started again.

Over and over, I drove her up. Wanting to break her as completely as she’d done to me.

In a weekend. Half a year. The lifetime since my sister had brought her into my world.

I slid my mouth up her leg and over her quivering belly, opening snaps so I could sample her skin. Salt and nerves, sweetness and Daisy. Moving higher to tug down the lace cups so that her full breasts stood proud, the tight tips beaded for my kiss. But I was rough with her, nipping where I could’ve sucked, twisting where she might’ve craved a tender touch.

Her back arched and the sounds she made nearly undid me. Like she was dying or being reborn, both at the same time. Her beautiful body straining toward me, asking wordlessly for whatever I would give her.

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