Page 77 of Not So Goode

He frowned. “Now?”

“You. Me. More—now.More, now, please.”

I couldn’t formulate sentences. Had to show him.

I lifted, pulling on his shoulders to rise up, my thighs clamped around his waist. I kept my eyes on his, mine wide and frantic for more, his deep dark brown and primal and raw with aggressive sexuality.

When I couldn’t rise anymore without losing him inside me, I sank down.

Hard. Felt him fill me with a slap of bodies meeting, and the sensation of taking all of him so suddenly split me apart with delirious ecstasy, and I screamed.

“Awwwfuck, Charlie…” he snarled. “Tryin’ to hold back so I don’t I nail you to the fuckin’ wall.”

I dug my fingers into his chest, let him see the need in me, rose and sank again, and again, faster, harder, using all my body, all my power, to show him. I clamped down with my inner muscles as I took him all the way, squeezed around him as hard as I could.

He let out a growl, then. Something I’d never heard—a release of desperation. Giving in, utterly abandoning himself to his deepest need.

“Hold the fuck on, Charlie-girl,” he whispered, a ragged sound.

I clung to his neck and clenched my thighs around his hard wedge of a waist, and he once again adjusted his grip on my ass cheeks, this time so he could pull them apart and get deeper. Hunched over me, he took a mouthful of my breast and sucked, nipped, tongued my nipple, and then…

He showed me what I’ve been missing my whole life.

Raw masculine abandon.

Testosterone-fueled sexual aggression.

Mastery over my body.

He pounded into me, his powerful glute muscles driving him up into me, slamming me into the door, driving up onto his toes to get as deep and as hard as he could. I screamed in surprised bliss, crashing against the door and writhing, trying to match him, but all I could do, I realized, was hang on and take what he had to give me. The door slammed against the frame, hard, loud, banging as he fucked me.

Pulling out slowly, he paused. And then he fucked me hard, so I slammed back against the door again, harder than the last time, yet I felt only him, only us, not the crash of my head and back against the door. Again, and again, he drove into me, each time harder and faster than the last. His face was buried between my breasts, and his breath on them was frantic, ragged, moaning. Each stroke of his cock into me hit something inside me, touched some nerve, sent me flying higher and higher and higher, made me cry out louder and louder, more and more frantic, desperate.

I felt myself reaching another edge, felt it like a tsunami within me. “Crow—”

He tilted his gaze up to mine.

“I—oh, god, Crow, baby, oh god, ohgod—” I crushed his face in my hands and tried to kiss him through the pounding merge of our bodies, “don’t stop, just like this—oh yes, god yes, now, Crow, look at me, look at me, I’m coming Crow, look at me while I come—”

He snarled and groaned, and thrust into me as I came apart, breaking into sobs all over him as he drove me to an orgasm I could not even begin to cope with, too much of everything to process the wild rush of mind-bending purity.

I felt us moving.

Felt him lower me.

Pull out.

I opened my eyes. “Wha—? Crow?”

I was facing a mirror, dirty, spotted. A sink, chipped porcelain, pitted chrome handles. He was behind me, huge and powerful, a dark avenging angel bent on my destruction. He reached between my thighs and touched me, found my slit. Fit himself to my opening, and slid in. Drove in, possessing me utterly as he filled me.

My legs didn’t work; I didn’t need them to—I was held up by him, by his hands around my hips and his cock inside me.

He gathered my complicated braid in his hands. Yanked the elastic band free and made quick work of shaking the braid loose. My hair cascaded in a thick glossy waterfall of black down my shoulders, my back, down to the top of my ass.

“Goddamn, Charlie. You have alotof fuckin’ hair.” He gathered it in his fists, bunched and wrapped it around one hand.

“Never cut it. Not more than an inch or two to trim it,” I murmured.