Page 44 of Deny Me

Jameson knew he was breaking me down. He knew my tics for when I was losing and getting angry about it. “You can. And you will.”

He spun me around and pulled my hips to his, pressing his erection into my ass. Kissing his way up my neck, he tore the sweater off my arms and tossed it aside before dragging his hands from my hips, over my breast, and to my hands, placing them on the door in front of me, forcing me to bend over to keep my ass pressed into him.

I should have stopped him, but when his fingers wrapped around the waistband of my pants and dragged them and my panties down, I knew I wouldn’t. It had been less than a week and I was dying to feel him inside me again. He was right about the boys. They were easy to control, and I never got as much satisfaction from them. But hearing the zipper of Jameson’s jeans and seeing them drop to his ankles behind me, I knew he would never fail to give me more satisfaction than I knew what to do with.

One hand on the small of my back pushed down, making me arch my back more and enabling him to push his cock into me. His head brushed against my pussy, teasing me. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl. You beg so well.”

He knew his words would irritate me and I wanted to stand up and stop everything then just to prove a point that I didn’t need to beg when his hand held me in place and he pushed in on one long, hard stroke. We both moaned out the relief of having him fuck me again.

He stayed still for only a moment and let me get acclimated to feeling him stretch me before moving his hands to my hips and starting to fuck me hard. His fingers dug into my hips with bruising strength and I relished the thought of seeing the marks in the morning.

“Tell me you’ll do this with me,” he demanded, reaching a hand up to grip my swaying breasts, pinching my nipple.

“No…” I gasped out, weakly, barely any fight behind my words. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes. You. Can.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust.

My orgasm was rising, mixing with everything else swirling inside me. When I became so focused on the feel of him wrapped around me, the way his fingers rolled my nipple, the way I felt safe and secure within his control, I couldn’t remember what I was fighting for. I couldn’t remember why I was denying myself the pleasure of this man fucking me. Denying the way he lit up my world when he walked into a room. Denying everything he gave me.

The emotions whipped across my skin with the tingling heat of my approaching orgasm. Each time he pushed in, I cried out as he hit my g-spot. He was rough and ruthless in claiming what he wanted. And I was becoming lost in the pleasure, pushing back against his hard thrusts.

Leaning back, he delivered a stinging slap to my ass. Again. And again. It mixed with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, spreading the pleasure further.

“Say it, Evelyn. Say it.” Another slap. “Say you’ll stop denying me.” Laying his chest over my back, he reached under me and slapped my clit, whispering his demand in my ear. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”

With another slap, I detonated. My toes curled into the hardwood and my fingers scraped against the solid door as my mouth opened in a soundless cry and my pussy squeezed his dick. I drew in a deep breath and crashed, only supported by the man behind me, continuing to fuck me with relentless power.

“Yes. Yes. Jameson. Yes.” I would have given him anything in that moment. I caved and let the pleasure he sent coursing through me make my decision. And when his arms lifted me up against him while he moaned in my ear, finding his own release, holding me close, I couldn’t remember a single reason I would deny myself this man.

We both stumbled against the door; my forehead pressed against the cool metal and his pressed against the damp skin of my back, his heavy breathing bursting against my spine.

“Fuck,” he muttered before placing a soft kiss against my skin and slowly easing out of me.

A shiver shook my body as I felt him pull out inch by inch. He pulled away and goose bumps broke out across my skin from where the air reached my sweat-soaked body.

With a light slap to my bottom, he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

“I don’t let guys shower here.” It slipped past my lips in a natural response, not thinking about the fact that I’d just agreed to give a relationship a shot with him. My stomach flipped at the thought alone.

He looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I’m not just any guy. And I plan on using your shower often.” He smirked at me. “Not always to get clean though.”

The one we took together was actually to get clean. The sex against the door had wiped me out, and while most people would want to fall into a small coma, that design I’d been struggling with earlier was quickly forming in my mind, urging me to get it all out on paper.

As I walked out of my room with a new set of pajamas on, I bumped into Jameson coming out of the bathroom in a towel. My eyes dropped to the defined ridges on his abdomen and tried to focus. “So, umm … are you going to get dressed and leave?”

He chuckled, but I didn’t see what was so funny. “I figured I would stay and we could watch a movie or something. Have you had dinner?”

“No,” I responded hesitantly. “But I was working on a design and I don’t want a distraction.”

“Okay, how about we order a pizza and you can work on your design. I’ll watch TV and answer emails.”

I stood there with narrowed eyes, unable to come up with a valid reason to object his plan. I couldn’t think of anything. Pizza sounded nice. His company sounded nice. I just wasn’t used to it.

“You can stop staring at me like I might possibly murder you,” he laughed.

“I’m not.”

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