Page 55 of Unlocked Dive

I’m done begging. I want him on his fucking knees.

Let him try to pretend once he’s had me with nothing between us.

His hands fist white-knuckled at his sides.

“Don’t break my phone.” I back away, peeling my shirt off over my head and tossing it aside. His gaze tracks down my torso and over my abs, catching where my thumbs hook in the waistband of my sweats. My dick is already half-hard, outlined against my thigh by the gray cotton, and when he licks his tongue over his bottom lip, I know I have him.

I shove my pants and briefs down together and step free, retrieving the packet of lube from the pocket—I carry that shit everywhere now—before tossing them on top of my tee. He still hasn’t moved, but his gaze is hungry on my naked body, and he palms himself unconsciously through his jeans.

I sink back into the couch, hooking one leg over the armrest so I’m spread out for him, and give my cock a slow stroke while I tear open the lube packet with my teeth.

A rough sound escapes him, his eyes flitting from my mouth to my hand on my cock, and when I pinch my tip and squeeze the lube over my fingers, it deepens to a growl.

“I know what you’re doing,” he grits out.

“Does it look like I’m trying to be subtle?” I arch a brow and let my other hand drag down over my erection to tease my hole.

He’s straining against his zipper now, hands locked behind his neck to keep from touching himself. To keep from touchingme. I slump lower in the cushions to give him a better view and sink two fingers inside myself at once. “Fuck, that’s tight.”

“Echo.” His eyes close, head falling back on his clasped hands.

Good luck with that.

I pump my fingers a few times, hard enough that the wet sound is audible even over my moans, and his eyes crack open. My other hand goes back to lazily stroking my cock while I fuck myself on my fingers, spreading myself open with every twisting pass. My ass is hanging half off the couch and my absare clenched, but I don’t take my eyes off his, daring him to deny me.

Fuck. I’m supposed to be tauntinghim, but the look on his face, the tense flex of his biceps, and the strip of exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up—I start to jack myself faster, chasing the orgasm building between my hands.

Precum leaks from my slit, and my breath gets jerky as I smear it roughly down my shaft. When I add a third finger to my ass, he snaps.

He’s on me in two strides, dragging me up with a fist in my hair that would be painful if I wasn’t so delirious with victory and lust.

“Turn around.”

Instead of scrambling to obey, I give him an insolent smirk, sucking my fingers into my mouth.

He flips me around with a curse, tossing me against the back of the couch and crowding between my thighs with a rough shove of his jean-clad knee. His zipper rasps as he drags my head back with the hand still in my hair.

I’m flush against his chest, thrilling at the pornographic feel of his cotton shirt and the rough denim of his jeans chafing over my naked back and thighs—our only skin-to-skin contact the hot silk of his bare cock pressing into my crease.

It’s filthy as fuck, and so is the kiss he claims, deep and possessive, with a vicious scrape of teeth as he withdraws.

“Tell me you love me,” I say, licking the blood from my lip.

“Will it make it hurt less when you leave?”

“Yes.”

He gives my head a jerk, my neck arched painfully back against his chest.

“Now who’s lying?”

I can feel his helpless fury, and my cock throbs to the beat of the cut on my lip, but he’s lining himself up at my entrance.

“I don’t care.”

He searches my face.

“You keep making me hurt you.”