Page 32 of Two days, One Pucking Night

Xavier pulls my back against his chest when I nod. His evident erection is pressed against my ass. Though my public sex fantasy has already been played out, the thought of us being caught doing anything turns me on like nothing else ever has.

When I turn around to face him fully, Xavier peers at me as if he can read my unspoken words. He pulls me into a kiss, his hands cupping my ass.

The passageway is empty, but he and I know it’s only a matter of time before someone shows up.

The elevator door dings and opens, and I hesitantly pull away from the kiss yet keep our hands locked. He pulls me inside. When the doors close, he is on me, his hands all over my body. I am on fire. My skin burns with the imprints of his fingers.

“Fuck, Sofia,” he growls, holstering me up.

I wrap my legs around his waist, my favorite position since we started this thing. I catch the glint of a camera overhead, but nothing else matters right now.

My underwear is still steadily tucked inside his pants pocket, so his thrusting inside me is smooth, flawless, with no barriers.

“Yes. Like that. Don’t stop.”

Xavier doesn’t; he pounds into me with the same urgency the elevator takes getting to the thirty-fifth floor.

The elevator door dings, and parts open in the living area of the penthouse. Xavier doesn’t stop his exploration of my mouth and body. I’m not sure how he is able to hold on to me, keep his pants on, and walk out of the elevator, all while keeping his dick inside me.

I feel him step out of his pants, and then I help him remove his shirt. If I wasn’t still sore below, I would almost think I imagined what we shared at the Gong because of how anxious we are to continue.

“I’m not ready to let you go.”

My chest twinges with a silent reply: Me too. Somehow, those words, simple, indicative of the moment, seem to cause a rush of warmth from my head to my toes.

The light in the house automatically flickers on when he steps deeper into the living area, past the kitchen, to the large carpet that covers the space between the large, curved gray sofa and the mounted TV. He lays me on the carpet, trapped between my legs. I lightly loosen my legs around his waist, giving him enough space to move but not too much that I’m not touching him.

“I need you naked. Nothing between us,” his command comes out as a frustrated growl.

The fire in his eyes tells me if I don’t, he’ll find a way to rip the fabric from my skin, and the last thing I want is this Olivia Von Halle number to meet his wrath. I lift my hand over my head and wiggle out of it as he helps ease it off my body. He keeps my hands pinned over my head and thrusts in and out with ease. I can’t move. I’m at his mercy. There are no words needed for what this is between us. Raw, unrepentant need.

“If you keep screaming like that, princess, Zayn might hear us. Is that what you want, for you brother to see me fucking you like my little slut?”

I watch, hypnotized, as his gaze darkens. My mouth is dry, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Unable to compute where the truth ends and reality begins. “Xavier,” I whisper, biting my lip.

“Is that what you are, Sofia? My little slut?” He pounds into me.

My response comes out as a garbled mess.

“Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin. My dirty little secret.”

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, wanting to be that. His plaything, his toy, his whore.

“Do you want your brother to know I’m the only man who fucked every hole in your body?” His words are presumptuous but won’t be far from the truth by tomorrow. “Tell me you’re my slut, and this pussy will always be mine.”

“Yes, it’s yours.”

He pounds into me harder, speared by the desperation behind my words. “Again.”

“I’m your slut.”

“Again.”

“This pussy will always be yours,” I scream the words so loudly my throat burns. I can feel the pressure building.

Xavier’s grunt, my moans, and the sounds of flesh against flesh echo in the space.

“Oh my god, Xav. I’m so close.”

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