Page 11 of Full Out Fiend
I hold on tight as he guides me through a door. A few low lights illuminate our path down a long hallway, but he doesn’t bother flicking on more.
Suddenly, I feel off balance, trailing after a stranger in a foreign place. I didn’t even think about whether anyone else would be here. Does he have roommates? A family?
“We have the whole place to ourselves,” he whispers, as if he can read my mind. “Do you know what that means?”
I let silence serve as my answer before he continues.
“I want to hear you scream at the top of your lungs every time I make you come tonight, angel.”
My cheeks flush in the dark. We just met. I’m all in with this one-night stand business, but I have little confidence that I’ll be able to finish with a stranger.
It only happened about half the time with Anthony—and only when I really focused. But that’s not something I want to share with a man I just met, whom I’ll likely never see again.
I steel my spine as Fielding guides me through the dark house. This night ismine. No expectations. No judgment, either. If this guy wants to step up to the plate and try to make me orgasm, who am I to stop him?
I didn’t set out to pick someone up. I didn’t set out for any of this to happen. Yet here we are…
Fielding approached me. He saw what no one other than Serena bothered to see. When he looks at me…shit…
At that exact second, he glances over his shoulder and pulls two water bottles out of the fridge.
When this man looks at me…
My insides turn to goo. My brain sort of does, too. All I feel is lust: a carnal urge that makes our connection feel natural and instinctual, like a needy, heady electric current running between us.
When he looks at me, he looks like he wants to eat me alive.
I want to let him. Almost as much as I want him.
Chapter 8
Daphne
Iexpectedthingstofeel awkward. I expected my body to tense up when the reality of what I’m doing sank in. I expected my brain to kick into overdrive, my anxiety to spike, my mind to overanalyze each word, every move.
But as we weave through the dark maze of this mansion Fielding calls home, eagerness dominates all other sensibilities.
Now we’re in a room that smells like him: salt and musk, with a hint of crisp apple.
The lights are low. There’s an enormous bed positioned against one wall; French doors that lead onto a patio or balcony along another. The space is neat; tidier than I’d expect for a motorcycle-driving, bachelorette-party-targeting, one-night-stand kind of guy.
I’ve given up trying to think with any logical part of my brain. I’m giving in to this moment and this man. It’s like I’m drunk on lust, inebriated with desire. Letting the animal inside me make decisions is an almost foreign sensation—to act on impulse without applying logic and reason—but it’s also freeing, and it feels really freaking good.
He guides me over to the far side of his room instead of the bed—I follow. Obediently. Hungrily.
He smirks before pushing me against the wall, bringing his lips to mine, and moaning on contact.
His kiss is demanding. Dominating and hungry. His tongue dips into my mouth with force before he pulls back, peppers me with pecks, and leaves me panting for more.
I kiss him back—finally—pushing down stray thoughts about how different this kiss is to any I’ve experienced before. I sink into the eagerness of his mouth on mine. The taste of him consumes me as blatant, unfettered desire courses between us.
Everywhere he touches heats up. Even when he runs his hand down my stomach, or squeezes the width of my hips, I don’t shy away. He so clearly wants me—all of me, just like this—every doubt and self-conscious thought melts away, one by one, with each graze.
I’m breathing heavily by the time he moves his mouth away from my lips, skimming down the sensitive skin of my neck. He nips at my ear before demanding, “Take this dress off before I rip it from your body.”
Emboldened by his directness, I reply with sass I don’t normally assert.
“Take it off yourself if you’re so eager.”