Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(25)
Author: Jen Frederick

“You can shove your hunter metaphors up your tight ass, Kerr.” I hop around pulling up the leg of my pants.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed. I had started to think I wasn’t making an impact. My huge ego was being crushed. By the way, I like the rose panties you have on,” he comments. “I particularly like how there are tiny bows right under the dimples in your back.”

Is that a smirk in his tone? Is he f**king smirking at me because I wore some of the underwear he bought? Then fine. I don’t need this stupid underwear either.

“You think you’re so cute, but what happens when you’re done with me? When I’m no longer interesting prey? When your little project is over? You must think my pu**y is lined with f**king gold if I’m worth a million dollar apartment overlooking Central Park.” I hiss at him, pulling at the sides of the panties in an effort to jerk them off. Jesus, the lace must be made of titanium. People are constantly getting their underwear ripped off in movies.

“What are you doing?” he demands and brushes my hands away. I fight him, wanting him to let me go, but he pushes me up against the wall and thrusts his big, heavy thigh between my legs, stepping downward so that the spandex of my bike pants is down around my ankles. I feel hobbled and, worse, I’m turned on. His steel-hard muscle is pressing right up against my clit and his hands are pressing me backward so that I’m imprisoned between his chest and the hall wall.

“What makes you think I’ll be done with you?” he says as he moves my hands upward until they meet in an arch above my head and he can grip my wrists in one big fist. Free, his left hand slides down my arm, leaving a trial of goose bumps in his wake. His mouth is on my chin, my jaw, and then my neck. He’s tasting me, pressing the flat of his tongue against my racing pulse. “Maybe I’ll never be done with you and your solid gold pu**y.” At the last word, he closes his mouth over that pulse point and sucks hard. The only thing holding me up is his hand around my wrists. He pumps his thigh against me and an involuntary moan escapes my lips.

“I don’t care,” I manage to choke out. It’s an obvious lie; my body cares a lot. “I’m not a toy. You don’t get to put me in Barbie’s expensive town home and play with me until you’re bored. I’m a f**king real person, and my mom’s a real person. And we don’t need this shit right now. I say who I sleep with and whose bed I’m in—and right now, you aren’t even in the same conversation.”

“I am the entire f**king conversation.” He sucks hard at the spot where my neck curves into my shoulder, and his hand is under my ass, moving me backward and forward along his thigh. His other hand has worked its way under my shirt and is palming my breast, a large thumb rubbing my nipple.

I realize my hands are free and that I’ve been holding them above my head while he rubs all over me. When I drop my hands to his shoulders I find I don’t want to push him away. Instead, I use his shoulders as leverage to grind down on his thigh.

The nerve endings of my sex are hyper sensitized and I swear I can feel every thread of his superfine wool pants. His leg moves, a tiny hitch, but it interrupts the rhythm and removes the pressure. “Don’t you stop,” I threaten him, all the heat turning from anger to throaty desire.

“Shh, bunny, I got you.” He lifts me completely and spins me around. I have no option but to wrap my legs around him. A few quick steps and we’re in another bedroom with one giant bed and nothing much else. He tumbles us onto the bed and then lowers himself over me. There’s nothing in my field of vision but the hard planes of his face and the ruddy flush of desire on the high points of his cheekbones. He looks fierce and hungry.

Before I can capture another thought, his mouth is on mine and his hand is pushing aside the lace of my soaked panties. I’m moaning from both the feel of his thick tongue inside of my mouth and the sensation of one and then two of his fingers thrusting inside me. Sucking hard on his tongue, I lift my hips to grind against his hand.

His free hand spears my hair and tugs my head back as if he can’t get his tongue deep enough inside me. He tastes of spearmint and earthiness, of true desire. My whole body is alive and it’s straining toward him, toward completion. I brace my feet against the mattress, seeking more pressure. Breaking away from his mouth, I pant, “Harder. Fuck me harder with your fingers.”

He shoves a third finger in and I cry out in surprise, but it ends in a deep groan as he begins thrusting relentlessly. “Oh, I’m going to f**k you hard. I’m going to shove my thick c**k inside you, and you’ll be feeling it for days after. Is that what you want?”

“God, yes,” I cry.

“Your greedy pu**y needs me, doesn’t it?” he demands.

“Yes.” It’s the only answer I can give.

“Next time, it won’t be my fingers inside you. Next time, you’ll be riding my cock, squeezing your tight pu**y around me and coming all over me like you’ve never come before.”

Instinctively I know that this man, for all his faults, can bring me to higher plateaus than I’ve ever visited. And I want to go there. Right now. I grab his wrist and squeeze my thighs around his hand so tight I can feel the bones in his wrist between my legs. “Make me come, Ian,” I order. He’s not the only one who can demand things.

He gives a hoarse, dark laugh and bends down to bite my nipple, right through my T-shirt and the cotton of my bra, and that’s apparently all I need because the first tremors of my release start shaking my body. He sucks harder until I swear half my breast is in his mouth. The left breast is being squeezed and tormented while his other hand continues its relentless f**king of my pu**y. He doesn’t stop the sharp, hard movements of his hand even after my thighs fall open and I collapse, shuddering on the coverlet. No. He continues to work me. He’s covering me with his body, and his mouth is over mine again.

“You’ve another one in you,” he growls against my lips.

“No,” I say weakly and try to push him away. “I’m done.”

He’s immovable. “You’re done when I say so. Your pu**y still wants me.” His long fingers are still stroking my post-climactic nerve endings, more gently now but still firm. His thumb caresses my clit lightly, and I shudder with each pass. “You’re so wet and hot and f**king beautiful right now and I want you to come. Now.”

And somehow he’s right. I come again as he commands. The white heat of my second orgasm overtakes me, and my body bows against the mattress. My toes curl as the power of my release draws all my attention inward, coiling my spring and then exploding outward.