Page 23 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

“Not until I say so.” I press three fingers into her pussy, slamming her backward and pinning her to the wall— if I step out from beneath her, will she still stay put? —and when she likes that, I pull back, then in again until she’s eating three fingers and my knuckles.

I could make her swallow my fist if I keep going.

Because she wants it.

She wants me.

“You’re a hungry one, aren’t you?” I bring my hand back and push it in again, stopped only by my pinkie knuckle and her desperate cry of pleasure. “You want me to fuck you, Fox?”

Her breath comes out on an explosive “Yes!”

“You want me to tear you open and put you back together again?” I swap my thumb for two fingers and drink her down.

She doesn’t just come. She floods, filling my mouth and tickling my insides.

“I could make you my fuck doll, molding you to the perfect fit for me , and never again will you go to bed with another man and believe he stacks up.”

“Chris—”

“I like it when you beg.” I brush her leg off my shoulder and catch her, despite her panicked cry.

Wrapping her around my hips, I consider the fact I’m still wearing jeans the only reason I’m not already filling her up.

“I want to see you cry.” I crush her against the wall and capture her lips with mine.

Make her taste herself. Prove to her that she’s delicious.

“I want you to beg me to fuck you. Because I’m a proud man, and you’ve been poking at me for way too long. ”

“Please fuck me.” She grinds against my belly, searching for friction. For fulfillment. “I’m begging, you see? I’m already begging.”

“Nuh-uh.” I set her on her feet and take a step back, releasing her and forcing her to stand on her own, heart pounding, knees shaking.

She’s naked and beautiful. Deliciously deranged and desperate for me.

Exactly how I like her . “I’m not the bam and done type, remember?

” I slip my hand into my jeans and circle my cock.

It’s like touching electricity. It’s like grabbing a live wire and hoping not to get burned up.

But then I charge forward again and spin her around.

I crush her chest to the wall, her hands beside her shoulders, then I draw her back until she figures it out.

Show me.

“Your asshole is throbbing for me.” I peel her cheeks apart and groan because she’s tight and forbidden. But she’ll take me. Even if it hurts, I’ll make sure she takes me. “Have you ever wanted to be fucked in the ass before, Fox?”

“Yes.” She chokes for air. “Yes, I want to.”

“You ever been fucked in the ass before? ”

She shakes her head, swallowing and trembling. “Not by a cock, and not by someone else.”

Curious, I spit on my hand and rub my thumb over her asshole. “What do you mean?”

“I use toys on myself.” She shudders and attempts to sit backward. She’s hungry for my thumb. Desperate for my touch. “I use toys on myself often. More often since I met you.”

“You think of me while you’re fucking yourself?”

She whimpers in frustration, wiggling her hips in search of more.

But she doesn’t answer, so I bring my hand back and slap her ass with a loud, resounding crack.

“Ah!” She startles forward to escape the pain. But hell, if she doesn’t override that instinct and drive herself back again.

“I asked if you fuck yourself and think of me.”

“Yes.” She drops a hand from the wall and touches herself, too impatient to wait. Too anxious for more. “Yes, I fuck myself and think of you. I’ve been touching myself and thinking of you since we first met in the summer.”

“Seven months of practice.” I hum my appreciation and slip two fingers into her asshole.

She cries out at the intrusion, her legs quivering and her fingers still fucking. So now we’re both working.

“How big are your toys? As big as me?”

“No.”

“How do you know?” I drive my hips forward and slide my zippered cock against her clit. “You don’t know how big I am.”

“Educated guess.” She gushes onto the floor, drawing me closer. Closer to taking her. Closer to destroying her.

Closer to owning her.

“I only had a bullet-sized plug before. But now…” She gasps, panting and moaning. “The one I use now is much larger.”

“Because you think of me?” My heart thunders, and my lungs seize. Fuck me, I might not survive her. But I’m determined to accept my death and ride her all the way to hell. “You got any lube? I might not get another chance with you, Fox. So I’m having you. All of you. Right now.”

“Lube?” she questions, breathless, and a little confused. “What?”

“For the first time? You want lube.” Desperate, I bend and bury my tongue between her ass cheeks.

“Argh!” She comes again, spraying the floor and soaking her thighs. “ Chris…”

“We need lube. And condoms. And the fucking bed.”

She heaves for fresh air, crying with needy anticipation, and glancing over her shoulder, she meets my eyes and gulps. “I saw a drugstore three doors up. Run.”

“What?”

Like the vixen she is, she pulls forward, disengaging, closing her legs, straightening her spine, and stealing from me the things I’ve already laid claim to. Then she swallows and grabs the bathroom door. “I said run.”

“Fox—”

“I noticed the brand-new showerhead in here. I was gonna use it for my pleasure, even before you started this fun little game. I planned to make myself come with you right there in my living room. But now you have an invitation to join me.”

“Fox…”

“Run.” She tugs the shower door open and flips the taps on, and to drive her point home, she slips her fingers between her legs and moans. “If I’m finished before you get back, I guess you miss out.”

“Fuck.”

I spin on my heels and bolt through the apartment, slamming my way through the door and sprinting down the stairs. A dull headache pounds in the base of my skull, and my thundering heart is like a bass drum between my ears.

I risk breaking my ankle.

My leg.

My fucking neck.

But I skip half a dozen steps and stumble to the main floor, and pumping my arms, I cross the bookstore and crash into the front door with a heavy exhalation of air.

Only now, I remember I didn’t bring keys.

Or my phone. Or fuck, my wallet. So I spin back and sweep up the petty cash container Alana keeps under the front desk.

I tear the damn thing open and steal a fifty, then I circle the desk and crash through the shop doors.

I leave them unlocked—I don’t have a choice.

I drop my head and pump my arms harder, clinging to the cash I stole, the robbery I committed, all in the name of sex with the one I never thought I’d get to taste.

I drag my shirt up and wipe my face on the run, since going out in public with Fox Tatum’s pussy on my lips is a tad uncouth, and sidestepping a little family on their way to fuck-knows-where, I burst into the drugstore with enough noise, that every soul inside stops to study me.

Good lord, they’re all watching me .

“Oh, hi Chris.” Barbara bustles closer. “I’m glad I saw you today. I wanted to check in about the?—”

I point to my ear in that universal ‘ I’m wearing headphones ’ way, blatantly lying and shoving past the old lady. Shamelessly, I make a beeline for the condoms and use every ounce of willpower I possess to ignore the eyes that follow me.

“Chris?” Eliza Darling waves from the other side of the store. “Hey, wait up?—”

“Can’t, sorry!” I don’t stop to study brands.

Or prices. Flavors. Ribbed for her pleasure.

What? Fuck me. I grab the first bottle of lube I find and the first box with a trojan soldier on the packaging.

Sprinting to the front counter, I slap the fifty down beside an ugly belly dancer ornament the owners put on display after their honeymoon—thirty something years ago—then I lean across the desk and snatch a paper bag.

I meet the eyes of the little old lady working her once-a-month Sunday. “Keep the change. I don’t even care.”

“I have to scan those first?—”

“No, you don’t. I was never here.” I bag my own things and charge toward the front door, only to skid to a stop when Mrs. Tower, an old teacher from my godforsaken high school days, steps in with her husband.

She hated me back then, but now she smiles. “Oh, hi Chris?—”

“Nope.” I circle on the fly, bursting through the doorway and onto the sidewalk outside, and because one of Alana’s mother’s friends waves from her little bench seat on the other side of the street, I shake my head and avert my gaze.

“Chris, I was hoping to talk to you about?—”

“Stop talking to me! Everyone, shut the fuck up!” I crush my semi-stolen goods against my chest and sprint toward the shop, and when Ollie Darling’s getting-older father grabs the door and attempts to step inside, I blow past him and flip the open sign to closed .

“Sorry. We forgot to turn this yesterday. Store’s not open on Sundays. ”

“But, I?—”

“Catch you tomorrow!” I slam the locks into place and lower the blinds on the inside of the door, and crossing the store at a sprint, I listen for the sound of the shower still running.

The rattle of the old pipes in the wall.

I scramble onto the steps, missing the third and stumbling on the way up, but fuck, I use my free hand to help my trek.

Sweat beads on my brow, and my heart threatens to give out on me.

I swear to God, if she’s changed her mind about this, I might drive on over to the house I was raised and abused in and shoot myself in the head.

But I run to the top of the stairs and crash through the apartment door, locking it up to keep intruders away, then I peel my shirt off and find Fox’s suitcase lying open on the floor.

It wasn’t like that just two minutes ago.

“Fox?” With my heart in my throat and the blood in my veins hot enough to burn, I stride to the closed bathroom door and pray. Fuck, I plead and bargain and prepare to beg. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah.” She releases a groaning whimper. “Come in.”

Thank fuck!