Overruled / Page 21

Page 21



Her dark hair fans out, and I’m caught in those hazel fucking eyes. Large, almond-shaped eyes that practically glow with hunger.

She’s not just dancing in front of me, she’s dancing for me.

Her hands skim down her sides slowly, cradling her hips, squeezing. But it’s my hands she’s imagining, my grip she’s feeling. Sofia’s full lips are parted, breathing heavy, the gloss of moisture beading on her upper lip.

And I want to lick it off.

But that’ll just be the start—devouring that mouth—before licking down and around, until I’ve tasted all of her. Until every inch of her skin is branded with the feel of my tongue, my lips.

My teeth.

Twirling the toothpick against the roof of my mouth, I stand. And stalk her way. Before I reach her, Sofia turns her back, ass still swiveling.

Taunting.

Over her shoulder, she keeps her gaze trained on me. I don’t stop until I’m flush against her, my palm on her stomach, pulling her back. So she can’t have any doubt about how she’s affected me. Every hot, hard inch of effect is pressed against her ass.

“Change your mind?” she teases. “Want to dance after all?”

“I want to fuck,” I breathe against her ear, making her shiver. “You. In case there was doubt. Now.”

She thrusts back, trapping my dick between us, then sliding up and down, rubbing with sublime pressure. I swallow a groan.

“Then I guess we’re leaving.”

• • •

On the cab ride to my apartment, I make it a point not to touch her—no casual brushes of her thigh or a hand to help her exit the taxi. Because I know the waiting will key her up even more.

And because once I start, I don’t plan on stopping.

After a tense, torturous elevator ride, we stand in the hall outside my apartment door. As I put the key into the lock, Sofia’s body is close—not pressing—but near enough behind me I can smell her perfume. A clean, sweet floral scent; gardenia maybe.

We walk through the door, then I turn, using her to close it, slamming her back. Trapping her between the door and me. Hands grasp at air as I hold her wrists in one hand, high above her head, stretching her out, making her back bow. Straining for contact.

She gasps as I run my nose up her cheek, her breath escaping in tiny puffs. “You want to be fucked?” I rasp.

She moans. Squirms. “Yes.”

Sofia likes it rough—hard words, bruising fingers—and I’m all too happy to please.

I skim my free hand up her thigh, bunching her skirt as I go. “You want to come?”

She once told me one of her favorite parts of screwing me was that she can just let it all go. No worries, no stress, no shots to call. It’s the one area of her life where she’s happy to let someone else—me—do all the work.

Her chin rises, scraping soft skin against my stubble. “Please,” she begs.

“How bad?” I taunt, rubbing over her silk panties where she’s soft and hot. Her hips gyrate against my hand as I push the fabric aside and slide my fingers through her smooth, slick lips. My dark chuckle rumbles. “Feels like you want to come pretty bad.”

“Stanton . . .” She groans in an impatient plea.

And then my mouth is on hers, taking her words, sucking those plump lips that I watch all fucking day. She tastes so sweet—grenadine with a tang of tequila, making my head swim. She gives me her tongue, moist and warm. I move my lips over hers, plundering firmly, barely allowing for breath, and capture her lower lip with my teeth.

Her arms push against my grip, wanting to grab, to pull me closer, but I hold her steady. I press the length of my body against hers, feeling every soft, full curve against my hard angles. She moans, grateful for the contact while I ravage that mouth. Then I slide my lips down her jaw, leaving a wet trail, to her neck, feasting on her sweet skin like a starving man. She gasps and lifts her chin higher, giving me better access as I slip lower, to the top buttons on her blouse.

One-night stands, sex without feelings, stranger screwing—I’ve done them plenty of times before. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s just—mechanical—fulfilling a base physical need. But this, here with Sofia—there’s never been anything mechanical about it. It’s scorching flames, licking at our limbs, pulling us together from a space deep inside—making us clash like magnets separated too far for too long.

My mouth sucks at her tits, over her blouse, leaving a dark, wet mark on the silk. There aren’t any thoughts—just feelings and sensations. I release her wrists, grip the delicate fabric with two hands and yank, ripping it open, baring the gorgeous flesh that fascinates me.


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