Page 28 of Almost Rotten

My body very clearly doesn’t know he’s not mine.

“Stop,” I tell him, my voice weak.

“Stop?” he mocks with a hollow laugh. “You think I’m going to stop? Every time I do this”—he punches his pelvis up again, his aim far too perfect—“you make the most delicious noises and you grind yourself on me like I’m your favorite fucking toy, petit diable. I’m never going to stop.”

He does it again, this time holding the position and pressing down on my shoulders.

“We’ve barely fucking started.”

Frustrated and helpless, I thrust forward.

Fuck this.

Fuck him.

If he wants to play a game, then I’ll take what I need and at least savor the release after this shitty day.

“Right there,” he murmurs, his drawn-out movements quickening. “Oh fuck,” he groans. “How does this feel so good?”

Eyes closed, I shut him out. How many emotionless sexual encounters have I had?

I can do this.

I can get myself there. I just have to pretend the man beneath me isn’t Ty.

Head tipped back, I bring my hands to my breasts and push down my shirt and bra cups, exposing myself. It’s a risk, but I love nipple play, and I’d rather give myself what I want than spend another second thinking about my decision to just lean into this moment.

I tug on my piercings, letting the heat gather, noting how my panties have gone from damp to soaked.

Groaning, I do it again.

And again.

With each pull, I grind down, relishing my own wetness and using the seam of my jeans and Ty’s body as I seek the friction I need.

I want to feel. I want to fall.

My body has wanted this for so long.

Him.

Here.

Giving me pleasure. Offering me all I’ve ever wanted.

Grinding in his lap like this creates a heady wantonness I’ve never experienced, a helplessness I didn’t want yet will enjoy now that it’s washed over me.

“There you go, petit diable,” he murmurs. Tentatively, his hands replace mine. He tweaks and pulls, and I can’t fight the little whines escaping me in response to his touch. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

I’m going to come for myself.

Rather than say that out loud, I focus on his hands, transfixed by the way he pinches my nipples, squeezing until I whimper, then rolling the aching, abused buds between his fingers.

Hooded eyes search my face, then lower slowly.

So slowly.

He only stops when his mouth is right there. Focusing on my face again, he darts his tongue out, licking the tip of my nipple.