Play With Me (8 page)

Her glance over her shoulder was full of yearning. “Yes, sir.” 

“Then you'll obey.” 

Hesitant, she pressed her breasts against the window. A gasp left her.

“Is it cold?”

“A little. Now that the sun is gone.”

The desert nights could get wickedly cold. “Is it cooling down that fire in your pussy?” He ripped open the foil package, grateful she had her back to him. She wouldn't be able to see the way he had to fumble the latex on. 

“No, sir.” 

He came to stand beside her, only then realizing she could see his face and his shaking hands in the reflection of the glass. He grasped her hips a little harder than he needed to. Both to show her he was still in control, and also because he knew it would ramp up her excitement. “What will?”

“You.”

Before she could finish breathing the word, he pulled her feet and hips backward until her back arched. She made a startled noise and braced her hands on the window. 

He shoved her wispy skirt up and made a low growl at the sight of her round ass, still encased in the white panties. So many options. He could have that ass naked, but he knew he’d treasure the sight of his dick shoving the fragile cotton out of its way. Ruined innocence.  Though innocence wasn't something either of them had ever cared much for. Not even when they'd had virginities to speak of. 

He pulled the panties to the side and grasped his cock, arrowing it into the hot wet slit he knew was waiting for him. 

He had to thrust hard to get past the initial tightness of her body. He wanted to remain silent and in control, but how could he be silent when he was sinking into heaven? If there was a way to bottle this feeling, getting sucked into her hot flesh, he would make a fortune. A small growl left his lips. “Has it been a while?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

How long? Is this better? Am
I
better?
He bit back the words, and pressed her up against the window, until she was sandwiched between him and the glass. She pulsed her hips back at him in a subtle motion to get him to move, but he clamped her hips hard, holding her in place to be skewered by his cock. She whimpered.

“You're so tight, Tatiana. Like you're a fucking virgin again. Do you remember that? Remember that first night? I took you missionary, fucked you gentle.” He layered his body over hers until he could whisper in her ear. “We didn't stick to missionary for long, did we?”

“No. We didn't.” 

“Or gentle.” Their debauchery had started when she came to him one night with a shy request to tie her down—something she had read in a dirty book that had turned her on. He'd made it clear she didn't need to be timid about asking for whatever she wanted. Particularly since the idea of domination had always turned his crank too. Hell, anything involving the two of them naked turned his crank. But especially the naughty stuff.  

Neither of them had been made for vanilla. 

She turned her head, resting her cheek against the cold glass, and cast him a glance. “We did gentle. In our own way. Did you forget?”

He froze. No. No, he hadn’t forgotten, but it was easier to pretend he had. The sex had always been explosive and raw and dark. But then they'd cuddled. Or she'd rubbed his back after a hard day of work. He'd made her sandwiches when she was studying late at night. 

They'd been gentle with each other. In their own way, as she said. 

Thought this was supposed to just be a hot fuck? 

It was. Is. 

“Eyes forward,” he said, voice hoarser than he would have liked. 

Maybe she was awash in memories too, but she clearly saw the wisdom of his directive because she turned her head until her forehead rested against the glass. He tightened his hold on her hips and rammed inside, the blood rushing in his ears making her cry of pleasure sound distant. 

Yes. This. This was all he wanted. All he needed. 

Chapter Seven

Wyatt's first thrust made her toes curl. His second made her head want to explode. 

She cried out, thankful he'd been smart enough to ignore her bleating about gentleness and kindness. This was all she craved, all she had signed up for. This hard, driving rhythm, a fucking to clear her head and tide her over for the blander partners she may have to settle for in her life. 

Her musings over whether the man could still fuck? Fruitless. Holy crap could he fuck. 

The glass was smooth and possibly the most diabolical thing for him to fuck her against, since there wasn’t a single damn thing she could grab and brace herself with. His hands captured her wrists, pinning them to the window. Her entire body followed suit when he used his thrusting hips to press her tight against it, her breasts flattening, her clit loving the hard pressure. She was caught, helpless as his cock moved inside of her in tight, rapid jabs. 

“Is it still cold?”

Smug bastard. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Cold was the least applicable adjective. The glass was slick and hot. Her necklace ground into her skin, the bite of metal delicious. He chuckled and released her to insert his hand between the window and her clit. His thick cock continued to rock inside of her, his thrusts becoming more fierce. Two fingers found her clit and pinched it. Even if she wanted to get away, she couldn’t. He was in front of her, behind her, inside of her, and she’d never be able to escape him. 

His breath came hot and fast on her neck, the panting telling her he was as overwhelmed with sensation as she was. “Come on my cock. Let everyone see who owns this little pussy. Who's always owned it.” 

Always?
Yellow cautionary lights flashed in her brain at his too-intimate words, but they were eclipsed by her body's
hell yes
. Her body was ruled by a ho. 

She strained, her hips trying in vain to work his pistoning hard-on, but he easily held her still, forcing her to accept only what he gave her. She loved that he could overpower her.  

She stopped struggling and let her orgasm build, her fingers curling. It coursed up from the balls of her feet, sensation exploding, her pussy clenching around him in tight contractions. He dropped his head to her shoulder and gave a short groan, his hips jerking against her. The condom muted the heat of his release, and she briefly fantasized that he was bare, filling her with his come. Since he was the only man she’d allowed that particular liberty, she knew exactly how she would feel, all luxuriously creamy and overfilled, the thick semen dripping out of her when he pulled away. 

He grunted when another small orgasm rocked her, and nipped her shoulder like a stallion correcting his mare. She dropped her hand to his thigh, the muscle hard and tense beneath his trousers.

“I'm going to fall down,” Tatiana whispered. Weakness—real weakness, not the play weakness she reveled in in bed—was one of those things she’d rather die than admit, but she was pretty certain all that was keeping her boneless body up was him and the glass. 

He muttered something that sounded like, “Me too,” but she wasn't sure. He pulled away from her, his still-large cock slipping out. Its absence left her empty and aching.  

She made a subtle movement backwards, as if she could recapture him inside of her. He cupped her hip, his touch oddly protective. “I'll fill you up again soon, Tatiana. Don’t worry. The night's just starting.” 

She wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise. Frankly, she really didn't care.

Tatiana was looking shakier than he’d like. Only his own wobbly knees kept him from sweeping her up and carrying her to the couch. He led her there instead, and after she had collapsed on to the leather, he fled. No. Walked. He walked calmly, at a rather brisk pace, to the bathroom. 

His motions were mechanical as he tossed the condom and rebuttoned his pants. He turned the faucet on and after washing his hands, splashed the cold water on his face. It didn’t clear the fog in his brain one little bit. Wyatt braced his hands on the counter and hung his head, watching the running water swirl down the drain. 

Holy shit. What had happened?

An orgasm, yes, but possibly one of the best orgasms of his life. Her body wasn’t just more amazing now. She was more amazing now.
They
were more amazing now. 

No. No, no, no. It was the novelty. The excitement of being with an old flame. Nothing more than that. It had been a while for him. They had been together for a long time. She knew how to push his sexual buttons. All she wanted was for him to play the stud and service her, not think or feel.
So be a man, stop trying to Dr. Phil this to death, and get out there and fuck her some more.

He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and went back out into the living room.

Tatiana remained where he'd left her on the couch, still bare-chested, and of course his cock gave a leap at that pretty sight. He couldn't read the expression on her face, but then, reading women outside of sex wasn’t his strong suit.  

Her attention was fixed on the window. He followed her gaze and smiled at the smears they'd left on the previously spotless glass. “Housekeeping is going to be confused.”

She jumped, her breasts giving a slight jiggle, and turned to look at him. “What?”

He gestured to the window. “The maid. When she cleans tomorrow. Then again, I may try to preserve the image of your breasts there.”

Ah, he loved that she could still flush. Pink stained her cheeks. “I didn't think of that.”

Neither had he when he’d ordered her to press herself against the window. Nor would he tell her that he fully intended to clean up any signs of their rendezvous before any maids stumbled across them. Spraying a bit of Windex wasn’t so far beneath him. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject. 

She paused. “Yes. I guess I am.”

“Pasta, beef, or chicken?”
Pasta.
She’d never been a big meat eater. 

“Pasta. Thank you.”

He went to the phone and lifted it, dialing down to the kitchen. “Send up a full spread for two, please. One beef, one pasta. Chocolate for dessert.” He hung up. “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“That's fast.”

“It's a fast kitchen. And I write their paychecks.”

She smiled faintly, but there was a hesitancy about her that hadn’t been there earlier. Was she also blown away by their coupling? He didn’t know. Couldn’t ask. 

He did know that her continued toplessness was both sexy and strange, seeing as how they weren't smack in the middle of one of their games. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to do up your...?” He gestured to her chest. 

Tatiana blinked and glanced down. “Oh.” 

“Did you forget you were half naked?”

“Maybe.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her hesitancy had diminished, coy teasing directed his way. “Plus, you didn't tell me to cover myself. Sir.”

His cock stirred. “Good girl. You can fix your dress.”

Her lashes dipped down, and she retied her halter, removing those pretty tits from his sight. Belatedly, he kicked himself. He should be maximizing naked breast time, yeah? Moron. 

But with both of them clothed, he was moderately more comfortable sitting next to her on the couch, arm extended to drape over the back. He shifted. Shifted again. The sofa felt uncomfortable and alien. Strange. This was his favorite piece of furniture in the entire place, one he’d personally chosen for its butter-soft leather and cushioning embrace. 

It’s her.
She was the reason behind his discomfort. There wasn’t much distance between them. The fact that there was any bothered him. 

Not questioning the urge, he reached across the small gap and pulled her on to his lap. She was so petite, her weight barely registered. Wyatt adjusted her until she was arranged to his satisfaction, her round ass caressing his cock.

She was pliant, but he still felt as if he needed to explain himself to her. “I want you here,” he growled. 

“Then I'm here.” She kissed him, her warm lips moving over his, her tongue flitting out to flirt. There were no hidden meanings in her words. And even if there were, he wasn’t going to dwell on them. He was too busy enjoying these sweet, unhurried kisses, reminiscent of the beginning of their relationship. Other kids at school had thought he was a big stud, but he’d barely kissed girls before Tatiana came into his life. For the first couple of dates, they’d sat in his car, giving each other these slow, drugging kisses, until he’d had to break away, play the good guy, and drive her home. The great thing about being a grownup was the ability to indulge desires. The passion boiled over fast, the kiss turning hard and deep. Pulling her panties to the side, he loosened his pants to release his cock and sank home. 

Mentally, he grimaced over the fact that he was essentially repeating the same moves a second time tonight. Next time, he consoled himself, next time he’d manage something more creative than simply shoving clothes away and himself inside of her. 

Or maybe this time. When she tried to turn, to straddle him, he kept her sitting sideways, which he knew would add to her feeling of helplessness. She couldn't move, couldn't even try to get away. 

He kissed his way down her throat, adding small love bites to her flesh. Her skin was delicate, and he bet she still bruised easily. He wanted to mark her so she would see his possession for days afterward. He
needed
to mark her. 

She shifted in his lap, her tight pussy nearly tempting him to change her position and ram himself until he came inside her.

“You're not wearing a condom,” she gasped. 

Goddamn. No wonder she felt so scalding hot. 

He hadn’t been with a woman bare since…her. She’d been the only one. Back when they’d both been too young and stupid. He was older now, but still stupid enough to mutter, “Give me a second,” and steal another kiss while he reveled in the feeling of her pussy rubbing against his naked cock. Christ, talk about nostalgia. 

“Now, Wyatt.”

He groaned, but he wasn’t a complete moron. They no longer had the luxury of having been each other’s only lovers. Or being in a long-term relationship with other precautions in place. The rules were different now. He pulled out, cursing when his cock met air, too cold after being inside her heat.