Page 4 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)

G EMMA

“What do you usually like?” he says, sliding his hands on either side of me and caging me in.

Tough question.

He tilts his head, his breath fanning over my chest as he most likely studies my nipples.

They’re hard like bullets.

“Tell me, uh…. What’s your name?”

“Gemma,” I murmur.

“Tell me, Gemma.”

I suck in a troubled breath.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I say.

“You wanna bet?”

A couple of seconds pass, and I abruptly spin to pull away from him when his arms lock around me, keeping me in place.

The feeling of him against me is intoxicating.

I draw still, my heart jumping up and down, struggling to break free.

He slides his hand under my chin and tilts my face up.

“You’re more than ready,” he whispers against my lips, and I know deep down inside I’m flirting with disaster.

And yet, I want his strong masculine scent all over me, his fierce gaze to alter my chemistry, and his unabashed confidence to sweep me away.

“But I’m not…” I say.

I haven’t even brushed my hair.

Haven’t planned to do any of this.

Not to say, I showered two hours ago.

He looks down again at the soft fabric stretching over my chest.

With scary precision, he runs his thumb up the swell of my chest, brushing a nipple, and a jolt of need dashes through me.

He does the same thing to my other nipple, and my chest begs to be touched.

“I like a woman without a bra…” he says, cupping my breasts and running his thumbs over their tips like he’s just got home and wants to have some fun with his woman.

Heat builds inside me, making me feel no cold.

He was right.

“How does it feel?” he asks, intensifying his strokes.

“Good. It feels good.”

I lean back against the kitchen island, telling myself this is all that we'll be doing tonight.

He can touch my boobs and make me hot and needy, but this won’t lead to anything else.

The more he kneads my breasts, the more pleasure spins between my legs.

“I love your body…” he says, feeling his way around the hemline of my white tank top.

His touch grazes my navel, and my thighs instinctively clench.

“See…” he says, hoarse. “I knew you’d like it.”

He pinches the hemline of my top and slowly peels it off.

And I do nothing… liking it all the way.

Without taking his eyes away from me, he slides my top toward the empty bottle.

I suddenly become aware of the long strands of hair brushing my back and shoulders, the lights barely glowing over my skin, and his thoughtful eyes going down more than once, taking inventory of my body.

They linger for a bit on my small waist and voluptuous hips.

A fever flashes through his eyes when he drags his hands from my waist to my hips.

“You’re perfect, woman,” he says, his guttural voice making my hair stand on end.

Perfect for…?

What exactly does he have in mind?

And what lies behind his eyes?

What kind of secrets, pleasures, or unexpected pain does he have for me?

He moves his stare to my face and grabs the back of his T-shirt with a grin before pulling it over his shoulders and sending it where my tank top lies.

My eyes slip to his carved chest, defined abs, and beautiful tattoos covering his shoulders.

Another one crawls down his side, while a dog tag dangles from a silver necklace locked around his muscular neck.

His hands wrap around my waist, almost completely locking me in his grip as he slowly brings me to him.

My hands are glued to the kitchen island; my knuckles are probably white by now.

His touch leaves me breathless, like the lust in his eyes.

“Still afraid of me…?” he murmurs with a hint of humor as he peers down and wedges his knee between my legs.

I pulse softly, instinctively pulling away yet pushing my chest out.

He rolls his hips, and his thigh brushes the sensitive spot between my thighs.

A gasp crawls up my chest.

“You like it…” he says, no longer asking questions, knowing exactly how I feel.

“Gemma…” he murmurs as if enthralled with how my name rings on his lips. “A beautiful woman…” he drones on, completely absent, his focus entirely on stroking me between my legs with his thigh.

I push out a troubled breath.

He moves closer, his touch more intense and hard to resist.

His hands squeeze my waist before riding up and touching my breasts.

It’s too much too quickly, yet a moan escapes my lips.

“Oh, yes…” he murmurs against my neck while I tilt my head back for him.

With his leg pressed into the apex of my thighs, he stops rolling his hips, my nipples hostage to his fingers, shooting arrows of pain over my body.

Sensual pain that feels like pleasure.

Pleasure that never wants to stop coming.

“Nice boobs, tiny waist, curvaceous hips…” he chants, every word ripping away my every insecurity. “I bet your pussy tastes sweet, too,” he says, and my thighs lock around his leg.

“Oh, yes, baby…” he goes on, moving his lips down my neck, giving me sultry kisses.

“Rub against me, baby. I want to feel your wetness through your shorts. I swear I’ll eat you out when you stain your little bottoms showing me how much you want me.”

The very words send a shockwave through my core.

He exerts more pressure against my slit, and a swirl of pulsations fuels my need for him.

He slides his hands down my spine, moves them past my waist, and grabs my ass.

The trickle of pleasure threatens to turn into a storm, as my chest starts heaving.

Staring down, he indulges in the view, his thigh teasingly stroking me between my legs, and I start to believe I just got my shorts wet and unlocked the next level in our little game.

I don’t even care whether he’ll eat me out or not.

Everything he does is out of this world.

He is that good. That skilled. That well-paced.

His fingers move down the curvature of my ass, and soon press against the damp fabric between my legs.

“I think we’re there,” he murmurs. “Let’s check first,” he adds, a smile tinging his guttural tone.

He slightly pulls away from me and drags his hands to my front.

One grabs the waistband of my shorts while the other slides in and trails below my navel.

“Oh…”

My voice catches, my body jolting against his arms as the wet parts throb under his hand.

I could easily come.

The thought that someone I didn’t even know an hour ago has talked his way into my place and then convinced me to do this makes me blush.

Tiny motions encircle my clit, and I could come only from that when he removes his hand and lowers himself in front of me.

I watch him push my waistband to my hips and then run his thumb along the seam of my shorts and my slit through the fabric.

“You’re perfectly wet, baby,” he says as I watch him in disbelief, yet with increased interest.

He flicks his eyes up, and I squeeze the edge of the kitchen island, biting my lip, still nervous about the whole thing.

I've got butterflies in my stomach from the pressure of his touch.

He was dead serious when he said what he just said.

He moves the tip of his tongue up the seam of my shorts, his eyes locked with mine.

And then he nips at my pussy through my shorts.

And rolls his tongue.

And kisses me through my bottoms.

And I open my legs wider.

And then he laughs against my sex.

“You didn’t think I would do it, did you?” he says, pulling up and snaking his arms around the back of my thighs.

In one move, he hops me onto the kitchen island and sets my feet on the edge.

“You need to relax. And I’ll make you come.”

That won’t be too hard.

If he doesn’t touch me now, I’ll stay forever grumpy.

“Ass up,” he says, and I push myself up, propping myself on my shoulders.

He tugs at my shorts, and once he peels them off completely, he taps my thigh lightly to make me lie down.

Slowly, he rolls my shorts down and drops them on the floor before shifting his attention to me.

His eyes glint with lust as he takes me in with my legs open, fully naked, and my knees up, my everything open to him.

He runs the back of his knuckles over my flesh, a knowing smile curving his lips.

“Look how wet you are,” he says, rolling his fingers into my wetness and lifting them up so I can see it.

He drags his tongue up his fingers before pushing them into his mouth and sucking them clean.

First, he unbuckles his belt and tears it off.

I watch it as it dangles from his hand.

“You like pain?”

I shake my head.

“Not necessarily.”

“It won’t hurt much,” he assures me, unfastening the only button at the waistband of his dark jeans.

My first reaction is to close my legs when he drags his belt over my clit.

My pulsations fade, replaced by angst.

“No fear, baby. Have no fear with me.”

He puts the belt next to me, loops his arms around my thighs, props his elbows against the hard surface, and lowers his mouth.

It’s like taking a big bite of a ripe peach, juices and all when he crashes it against my pussy.

“Oh, damnit,” I push out, my hands sliding to his head, my fingers weaving through his hair while he eats me out like the world is coming to an end.

My insides throb softly as wet arousal drips into his mouth.

I want to slide back, yet he keeps me in place as I chase my orgasm.

He pulls me closer, lapping at my entrance and my clit.

Swiftly, my pleasure climbs, my chest moving up and down.

He knows what he’s doing.

“Please don’t stop…” I murmur, closing my eyes and concentrating solely on the pleasure swirling in my core.

His eyes burn, unfocused as he casually runs a hand over his groin and picks up his belt from the kitchen island.

One hand keeps my legs open while the other slaps my swollen sex with his belt.

It hurts and feeds my pleasure.

I take the punishment with patience, wanting a little more. His strokes become stronger, and while my pussy tingles and hurts at the same time, the line gets blurred, and it doesn’t seem to matter much to me.

All I want is his mouth moving between my legs again.

He flicks his hand, and the strap of leather leaves a red mark across my abdomen.

Protesting, I fall right into his trap.

He drops his belt on top of my shorts and unzips his jeans, laughing.

“You’ll love to take my cock now,” he says, dragging me off the kitchen island and spinning me around before pinning my chest down and nudging my legs apart.

I hear the rustling of a wrapper as he rips it open with his teeth and pulls a condom out.

The wrapper falls to the floor while he uses one hand to roll the condom down.

A moment later, he moves his hand between my legs.

“Your pussy is mine now to hammer however I want, yeah?”

I say yes.

“Good.”

Without waiting, he presses the head of his erection against my opening and enters me with ease.

Warm arousal wraps around him.

“I couldn’t ask for more…” he says to himself, running his hands around my ass and slapping my cheeks hard.

I yelp and almost come.

“More?”

“Yes,” I say.

He thrusts into me and pulls back, and then thrusts into me and pulls back again.

And then rhythmic rolls of his hips put him deep inside me over and over again, making me close my eyes and ignore the sweat forming between my boobs and smearing the hard surface.

He’s rock hard and quite big for me, yet my pussy doesn’t mind it.

Every second that my center is filled up throws me into the throes of pleasure.

Moans fly off my lips as the next slap comes and the next. And they’re hard, the sound moving around the room a bit.

But with them comes his other hand between my legs.

He grabs my pussy, and moving his fingers makes my clit explode with pleasure.

A slap.

Another slap.

More pleasure.

And more pleasure.

I roll against the kitchen island, my chest wanting his chest, my body wanting his body, my core wanting his hard flesh.

Him wearing a condom is not an impediment for me.

It turns me on.

The idea…

But him going bareback is a nice fantasy I indulge in while he fucks me raw.

He likes to fuck. I can tell.

He doesn’t rush, nor does he lose direction.

He’s focused and driven, and his intensity only climbs.

I see where this is going.

I’ll be all sore tomorrow morning and probably look like a crime scene with bruises all over my ass and legs.

He picks up the pace, no longer spanking me, and I push my chest up to feel his chest behind me.

His hand travels up my front and wraps around my neck like a collar, while his fingers dive deep between my folds and keep stroking my clit.

It all becomes a blur as I lose any sense of space and time or what I’m actually doing.

I have this sexy stranger behind me, fucking the hell out of me and keeping on a high edge like I’ve never been before while I moan and groan and want every bit he gives me.

Take that creepy abstinence and lousy sex.

Who knew I could get a man who fucks like that?

Who knew he would make me drink water, so the tension inside me would increase tenfold and my orgasm would feel like an atomic blast?

Surely I inch closer to the peak and as my pleasure spikes, he groans behind me, his breaths coming out fast, his both hands on my waist, while mine are plopped on the kitchen island in front of me.

Primal sounds ring in the kitchen before I fall into a deep trance and have the best orgasm I have ever had.