Page 49 of What You left in Me

My hand can’t behave; it claims her, thumbs pressing into her hips to hold her steady before I skim up, beneath her hem, to warm skin that arches for me. When I cup her breast with the other hand, she gasps, soft, needy, and the sound traps something feral in my throat. I circle, tease, pinch, and she moans louder, wrist stuttering then finding a greedier rhythm I match with helpless rolls of my hips.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I manage, even as I guide her pace, mouth at her throat now, teeth grazing where her pulse hammers for me.

Needily, she presses into my hand, chases more, and the world narrows to the slick slide of her fist, the weight of her in my palm, the sweet, wrecked music of her moans, until breathing without her feels like a habit I’m finally ready to break.

I drag my mouth down the line of her jaw, slow, mean, claiming a road I shouldn’t be allowed to drive on. I’m breathing against the hollow at the base of her throat until she shivers sohard I feel it in my knees. My hand slides from her waist around to the small of her back, and down her panties.

She palms my chest, hot and shaking, and says the word that saves us and kills me. “Wait.”

Everything in me locks. I freeze exactly where I am, mouth at her throat, hand at her ass, heart punching a hole in my ribs. The house is so quiet I can count the beats between us.

“Say the next word,” I grind out. “Yes, or not yet.”

She swallows. I feel it. “Not yet.”

“Too bad I’m not good at being told what to do… I need you.” My words take her by surprise and her eyes widen, but there’s a glint behind them that tells me she wants the same.

“I’m engaged. You can’t ‘need’ me.”

I drag in a rough breath through my nose. “Well, I do… I need your pussy. I need your arms around me, your legs squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe. I need it all.”

I’m so fucking turned on, the features of her face blur together. Before I know it, I’ve stepped even closer to her, my lips breathing on her neck. I hear her gasping into my hair. I grip my hard dick from inside my trousers and squeeze.Fuck, it feels so good.But it would feel so much better if it was her hand. Her mouth. Her soaked pussy.

“Finn…”

I press my lips against hers. “Don’t fight me,” I plead as I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, her ear, her chin. “Please, give me this. I’m not going to survive this if…”

“Let me…” she begins, but I don’t let her finish.

I swing her to the ground, shoving her to her stomach, pushing aside her cotton panties, and thrust inside her.

She opens her mouth to scream, but the sound is cut off when I force her mouth to mine, stifling her keens with my kiss. I ground into her, sinking so deep inside her I’m sure I’m feeling her goddamn cervix. She’s so wet, it would be disgusting for anyone else. She fights back or at least tries to. But I’ve had fucking enough. I’ve controlled myself enough and now I’m taking what’s mine.

I wrap my hand around her throat, holding her still and devouring her mouth savagely as I pump feverishly, my hand finding her swollen clit and learning how she needs to be rubbed. Pounding into her until she’s coming around my cock, and my lips aren’t enough to quieten her cries. My palm covers her mouth, slick with her own juices.

My climax strikes while her cunt is squeezing around me, riding out an orgasm that has her shaking beneath my weight. It doesn’t take long considering I was already dripping pre-cum. I throw back my head with a heady inhale, pounding my fist into the ground until the bliss finally passes and I collapse onto her.

“You shouldn’t have been out here with me,” I pant into her hair.

She sniffles, still shaking. “I shouldn’t be anywhere with you.”

“Accurate.”

I get up and pull up my trousers. Then, I help her stand up. She’s wonky on her feet but she manages somehow as she adjusts her underwear to capture my release for when it works back out of her.

Downstairs, the old grandfather clock counts something off like a bored judge. Somewhere at the far end of the hall, a door murmurs. The house has more eyes than people tonight. It witnesses something that

“Goodnight, Finn,” she rasps, unable to look at me. Her eyes are wide, glassy, and her lips are swollen. She doesn’t reclaim her glass from where she put it. She walks away in a haze.

I watch her until the corner takes her.

After, I stand there for a long time with the taste of her in my mouth and the absence of her pressed to my chest like a bruise I asked for. Then I turn, walk back to my room, close the door, and lean against it until the wood complains.

I lie on top of the covers and stare at the fake stars until the cracks start to look like routes out. There aren’t any I’ll take. Not while she’s walking back to him. To the ring. To the pose.

The thought hits like a match in dry grass: the jealousy flaming hot and intense, and what’s left behind is workable.

I fucked her but I want more. I want her to only be fucked by me from now onwards. And knowing her, it won’t be possible if she stays with Julian who’s the perfect candidate for a fiancé. No one else gets her. Not the man who keeps her propped up on a pedestal, fit to be adorned by a halo. Not her fucking mother who has everything to do with the diamond-laden leash she’s got around her finger.