Page 25 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

T he feel of his tongue stroking me, his lips, and that damn silver ring, cool and hard against my most sensitive parts… it almost sends me over the edge.

But then he stops as if he senses it and pulls back.

I almost scream in frustration.

I’ve never had a lover do this to me—make me bow over, vulnerable and offering myself to them, only to bring me to the brink and then stop.

But then he turns me around and I find a pleased smirk on his handsome face.

He makes me beg.

No sooner have I said “please” than he jumps back into action. He all but carries me further into his apartment and… his dining table?

“You really don’t do things the normal way, do you?” I whisper, choking on a laugh as he grabs my hips and lifts me onto the table.

“Normal is overrated,” he whispers back and he’s so right. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks, oh?—”

He pulls it down, off my shoulders, down my chest and I lean back so he can take it off completely. “I love it off you. I love it folded on the sofa or in a pile on the floor.”

I snort. He lets it fall and I don’t even look at it. I look at him. “And what else do you love?”

“You in your cute underwear. And more out of it.”

I’m only wearing my bra and my boots now. When he bends and starts undoing my laces, I slap a hand over my mouth. I’m so torn between laughing and moaning with everything he does. He’s a vision, a naked, tattooed, pierced vision, bent over my heart-covered boots, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I thought you’d go for my bra first,” I admit when he pulls off one of my boots—and socks—and then the other.

“I don’t want anything distracting me when I get to your tits,” he informs me solemnly. He lets my second boot drop and leans over me, grinning. “Now show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Those pretty titties.” He licks his lips as he pulls one strap off my shoulder, then the other. He reaches behind me, expertly undoing the clasp, and then pushes me down until I’m on my back on the table.

He swipes my bra away with a little growl and then puts his hands on my boobs. “Fuck, they are as perfect as I knew they would be.”

I gasp as he rubs my nipples, clenching so hard between my legs I almost come. “Ryder,” I say, my voice strangled.

“Your ass is spectacular, but your tits are magical.” He torments my nipples some more as I writhe on his tabletop.

Then he trails his hands down, between my legs, and I cry out when he presses down on my clit. “Ready for me now?”

“Yes…”

His finger slides lower, dipping into me. “I think you’re right. Dripping wet, Candy girl. Maybe now you can take me.”

He’s a considerate lover, I think fuzzily as he parts my legs and steps between them, and it’s true that his size and piercings have been stressing me since he showed them to me earlier.

The sense that I’m safe with him becomes stronger, especially when he says, “I’m tested and clean, babe. How about you? And how about birth control?”

A little late in asking, but he asked nevertheless, while my mind had been off on vacation. “Clean,” I manage. “And on birth control.”

“Didn’t I say you’re perfect?” His crooked grin turns… wistful? I frown, trying to make it fit in the picture, but he doesn’t leave me time to ruminate.

He grabs his cock, strokes it while grinning down at me. He looks like a god of malice, but playful. I’m in the eye of the storm.

Then he unleashes the storm on me, placing the head of his cock at my entrance, teasing, rubbing. Then pushing into me. Slowly. Inexorably. Inch by inch, and there are so many inches.

And the piercings. Good Lord. I feel every little ball, every metal bar. They rub and stroke and feel amazing as he sinks into me.

God. My back arches as he fills me up. It’s delicious, slightly too much and yet just right.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants. “Tell me if it hurts. Tell me everything.”

“It doesn’t hurt. Please, don’t stop, don’t…”

“I’m not stopping. Never gonna stop.” He pushes deeper and deeper. How can he get any deeper than this? But there’s more and somehow he fits inside me.

Then he’s bowed over me, panting, his hands slamming down on either side of my head. His grin turns savage. “All right, baby girl? Gonna fuck you now.”

Why does he need a warning ? I think.

And then I find out why. The storm is unleashed. He starts fucking me and it’s like the world is ending and starting again. His hips rock, muscular things pressing between mine. Slow, then fast, then slow again, every inch of that huge, pierced dick pleasuring me relentlessly.

There is no way back. There is no fear, no panic, no stress. Nothing but our bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, his chiseled face over mine, eyes half-closed as he fucks me into the perfect oblivion.

Orgasm slams into me so hard I almost scream, clutching at his muscular arms, and still I manage to catch a glimpse of his face as he loses control, that stunned expression, that awe as he falls.

He groans softly, his arms trembling as he rocks deep into me and stays, his hips jerking. I’m still clenching around his pierced length, stunned myself at this turn of events. Never would I have imagined finding myself here when I got up this morning.

Okay, when I fell off the sofa this morning.

As he hovers over me, I slowly become aware of more details, like his scent wrapped around me, the musk of male sweat and cum, a small scar on his cheek, a glistening drop running down his temple.

He’s breathtakingly handsome, and I love how his eyes have gone opaque and hazy with his release. From the start, he’d felt sharp like a blade, but now that edge is blunted. Blurred. Gentled. The smile tugging on his lips is soft.

But this moment can’t last forever. Eventually he draws back and I wince as he gently pulls out of me. I’m sore, in a pleasant way. I will feel this tomorrow.

Still sprawled on my back on the table, I watch him straighten, watch the play of impressive muscles under inked skin.

I never noticed his tattoos before, except for the names on his chest. He’s covered in mermaids and ships, corals and seaweed, jellyfish, sharks and snapping teeth. He’s an ocean, a sea. A drowning tide.

He holds a hand out for me and I grab it, letting him haul me off the table and to my feet. Yeah, I’m definitely sore, and it makes me smile.

“What’s that smile for?”

“Don’t girls smile after you fuck them?” I breathe.

He shakes his head. “You’re something.”

“Something good, I hope.”

“The best,” he says and my smile widens.

“The best lay?”

“The best girl.”

I bite my lip and go grab my dress. My underwear is strewn over the floor. I tug my boy shorts on, then grab my bra. Resisting the urge to cover my boobs, I turn boldly to him.

“Can I see you again?”

But he looks away. “Not sure that’s a good idea, Candy girl.”

“Oh. I see.” I nod, a jerky motion. What is this crushing feeling in my chest? What did I expect, a marriage proposal? We don’t know each other. And I only wanted a distraction. He delivered. Oh boy, how he delivered. I shouldn’t expect more.

His speech about our broken pieces fitting together was obviously only referring to our bodies, not our souls.

See how easy it is to interpret things the way you want? To build scenarios out of straws and hope?

“We could be friends,” I whisper.

“No, we couldn’t. Every time I saw you I’d want to fuck you against a wall.”

“Then why not see me again, why...?” I have to swallow down the protest. It sounds desperate. Tragic. That’s not me. I didn’t come looking for a relationship.

“Because,” he says regardless, as if he’s heard the question I didn’t finish asking, “you’re the best, and I’m not.”