Wicked Burn(75)
Author: Beth Kery

By the time her electrical convulsions waned, sweat dripped between the ridges of his abdomen muscles. Wondering if he was some kind of masochist, he reached between her thighs and thrust two fingers into her pussy.

“Fuck, yeah,” he muttered almost unintelligibly. Silky liquid gushed from her warm channel, but with a quick flick of his fingers he realized that her entire exterior was drenched as well. All of her pubic hair was wet, but around her puffy labia and swollen clit she dripped with juices.

He snarled with feral arousal and pinched a luscious lip, making her ass jump with surprise. He came down over her, supporting himself with his arms on the headboard.

She howled when he started to thrust in and out of her, but Vic could tell she did so in the deepest arousal, not pain. Or at least he hoped he wasn’t projecting his experience onto her, because it felt so decadently good to fuck her hot little ass that he didn’t think he could have stopped himself if he tried.

He was a goner, to be sure.

It seemed as if his whole world quaked for the next moments as he rocketed into her again and again, and she met him thrust for thrust. She took him on a hedonistic fantasy ride of a lifetime, allowing him to plunge into her forcefully time and again, and sending her butt up eagerly for more every time he withdrew. Niall was so small that he’d never have guessed she’d have been able to take such a thorough, rough ride, but she did.

God, did she ever.

Sweat beaded on his belly and spilled onto Niall’s glistening back and ass with each powerful crashing impact of their bodies. It got so that Vic couldn’t have formulated his own name in his mind, he’d become such a primitive creature of pure, driving lust.

Still, the sound of Niall screaming, the sensation of her contracting around him as she climaxed once again pierced his awareness loud and clear. As if he’d been given some kind of long-awaited, desperately sought-for sign, he smacked his pelvis into her ass one last time, pressed her plump cheeks tightly against his balls, and roared as orgasm tore through him.

He poured himself into her endlessly, not realizing until later that every last defense that he’d erected from the first moment he’d laid eyes on Niall Chandler had just been incinerated to a fine-grained ash.

TWENTY

Half an hour later Niall came out of Vic’s bathroom after having washed up. She still felt a little disoriented from their lovemaking. It had taken both of them a good twenty minutes following their scorching climaxes to find the strength to move. Neither of them had done more than grunt in exhaustion as they clung to each other like two survivors of a chaotic storm. A few minutes ago Niall had stumbled to the bathroom, but Vic still lay on his side on the bed, naked and beautiful and obviously completely sated.

Niall couldn’t quite identify the strange feeling that overcame her as she studied him. Only his singular gray eyes moved as he watched her slowly cross the room toward him. For some reason Niall was reminded of the first time they’d made love, when they’d crashed into each other’s universes so wholly, so brilliantly, and afterward how they had been so separate . . . so far from each other.

No, that wasn’t entirely correct. In fact, Niall had never felt closer to Vic in her life. Her eyes caressed his long, lean body, loving every taut plane and hard ridge with her gaze. The heavy feeling inside of her swelled until it felt as though her chest would burst.

It was the knowledge that she didn’t know how he felt about her that was making her so uncertain. Or maybe she did suspect, and that was what made her so heart sore.

Something flickered across Vic’s face as he stared at her.

“Are you okay?” he rasped.

She nodded quickly.

His brow furrowed, and he sat up on his elbow.

“You’re not . . . hurt or anything, are you?”

“Of course not,” she mumbled. Her cheeks flushed hot when she thought about what they’d just done in that bed. It amazed her how her desire for him transformed her into a wild, carnal creature she barely recognized. It took about two seconds of Vic touching her, and she morphed into that alternate existence completely.

“Then come here,” he demanded softly.

Niall stepped forward at the sound of his compelling voice, but something made her waver. What was it? What had started to plague her consciousness ever since she’d gone into the bathroom a few minutes ago? Her eyes fell on the empty bag that still lay in the bedside table, crumpled and forgotten.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

She quickly stepped over to the side of the bed and bent to find her pajama shorts. She pulled them up over her legs.

“Niall? What are you doing?” Vic asked as he slowly sat up to watch her, an expression of bemusement on his face.

Niall swallowed heavily, willing the bitter taste from her mouth. “You said . . .” She cleared her throat when she realized how hoarse she sounded. “You said that you were going to give those things to me last Christmas?” she asked as she bent and retrieved her pajama top.

Vic’s chin shifted to the items on the bedside table, including the little yellow butterfly, which she’d removed before going to the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Vic said slowly after a moment, a wary expression settling on his features.

Niall nodded quickly as she buttoned her pajama top with trembling fingers. “That’s what I thought you said.” Tears gathered in her eyes so rapidly that she kept her head lowered, not wanting Vic to see them.

That was it. That was what had been eating at her. She knew it was stupid. She knew Vic would never understand. But she felt so raw at that moment, so opened up, so vulnerable . . . so uncertain.

He’d bought her sex toys for Christmas.

He’d bought her sex toys during what she’d considered the most intimate, romantic time of their burgeoning relationship. When she thought of what she’d planned to give him for Christmas, a rush of mortification surged through her.

She’d endlessly researched online and finally found something at an auction house that she thought was worthy of him and that he might really cherish—a monogrammed ink pen that had once belonged to Arthur Miller. Vic had told her before how much he admired the American playwright.

Could there be anything that better symbolized the truth of how Vic must really feel about her?

God, she’d made such a fool of herself coming here, intruding on his personal space when he’d made it clear he didn’t want her there—

“What’s wrong? Niall.”

But for once she ignored her instinctive urge to respond to Vic completely. She never even flinched as she jogged barefoot toward the farmhouse, on the gravel turnabout, several seconds later. Her inner pain utterly consumed her entire awareness.