Suit - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 37
- Предыдущая
- 37/65
- Следующая
Again, I didn’t reply. I wasn’t supposed to. Not with words anyway. Something foreign took over my body. My nipples beaded into hard pebbles, my body swam in dopamine, and my clit instantly swelled and throbbed. Why? What the hell was wrong with me? It was like some psychological loophole that only he could control. Like a power struggle between us. I wanted him to overpower me, and I wasn’t sure what that made me.
Paxton knew. Paxton decoded it. Like he could speak to my DNA with some sort of unique conversation technique. I wanted to be led. I wanted to experience the power of his commanding presence. He was fearless, direct, and he never asked for permission. He did what he wanted, and I wanted him to. How messed up was that?
It was scary exciting. Giving up control to Paxton in wanton surrender proved to be dangerous, taboo, and somewhat forbidden. I became vulnerable to him, ready to surrender.
“What would you like first, a nice little spanking, or a little more action with these smart panties? Hmm? Answer me, slut.”
“Um, spank me,” I said, barely recognizing my own gravelly voice.
“Turn around and face me.”
I spun, eyes meeting his.
“Look down. You don’t need to do that. Your eyes need to be down. Okay?”
My eyes darted to the bulge behind his jeans as his hands wandered around my backside.
“You scared? Remember who you are yet?” he asked in some sort of jerkish, yet sexy tone. My God. What the hell was wrong with me? I was ready to get off by atmosphere alone. Paxton devoured me with his lips, and I devoured him back.
He left me breathless, standing vulnerable in front of him. I crossed my arms and watched him stalk away while he swiped a fingertip over his phone's screen.
“Uncross your arms and look down.”
I obeyed, conspicuously moving my right foot out a little, bracing myself for what came next. Even though I kept my gaze downcast, I could see everything that he did. His red shirt went to a pile at the foot of my bed. Next came his jeans. No underwear. He didn’t have any on.
I swallowed when I heard the hum, followed by a jolt of euphoria deep in my belly. It nearly brought me to my knees. This was going to be bad. The sight of Paxton stroking himself hard through my peripheral vision, and the growing intensity between my legs was almost too much. I moaned when the vibrations became stronger. Paxton shushed me with a quiet shh, but I couldn’t help it. It was out of my control. The stronger the vibrating got, the higher my arousal rose.
“Paxton—I’m not. I’m—ahh, ahh fuck. Yes, mmm, yes,” I moaned. Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? I rode out the orgasm with trembling legs. Too late. I was already over the top and there was no coming back. Then the commotion that had caused me to lose it, stopped abruptly.
Paxton came at me, an aura of anger radiating from him. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His lips were close enough to smell beer and feel the puffs of air lacing each of his words. I trembled from fear this time, afraid of what I had done. Paxton could flip quicker than a light switch, and I seemed to possess an unintentional talent for flipping it without even trying. Every time.
“I’m sorry,” I moaned into his mouth. Our lips merged and passion took over. My arms went around his neck and his went around my waist.
“Stop, Gabriella,” Paxton ordered. Again. Weak.
I defied him. I kissed him like I couldn’t get enough of him—and I couldn’t. Paxton returned the passion, lifting me to his waist and turning us toward the bed. As soon as he’d backed me to the bed, I propped myself on my elbows. He followed with his lips never leaving mine while he pushed the crotch of my panties aside. His hand spread my legs, he wedged his hips between them, and he slid inside me.
No matter how hard Paxton fought not to feel what I knew he felt, he failed. He wasn’t in control any more than I was. This was mind blowing sex. The kind where everything goes, where you can do and say anything. Paxton couldn’t stop that. I either babbled insanities and nonsense or cried out in ecstasy, giving him all of me. I told him how much I wanted him, and I meant it. The wild taking over my body kept me from thinking straight.
Paxton thrust into me sending me into a vortex of destruction. Our bodies worked against each other, fire colliding with ice. There was no kinky torture because there were no egos. My plan to be the dominator backfired and I surrendered but so did he.
“Turn over,” I coaxed, my mouth against his lips, twisting my body in an attempt to shove him off me.
“No, you’re never on top. We don’t do that,” he said, reminding me of the rule I didn’t remember, his lips devouring mine.
I shoved again with flat hands on his chest, arching my back and moaning with hungry desire. “Oh, my God, Paxton. Turnover. Let me ride you,” I ordered. For a split second, I thought I’d lost him. He retreated with a cold stare and a clenched jaw. I kissed him, trying to keep him grounded. He kissed me with increasing hunger
My nails scraped down his chest. I held my hair away from my neck, more for the show than because of the heat. Although I was hot. It helped me show off my toned stomach and make my breasts look bigger than they really were.
Paxton ran his hand down my chest and held my hips. The trance between our eyes couldn’t be broken, and neither of us tried to break it. We surrendered. We let go. We made love.
I circled into him with every push of his hips, my impending orgasm approaching. My lips parted and I dropped my hair when I felt the first pulse. Paxton flipped me without breaking the sizzle, and led me toward bliss. A deep kiss, followed by a thrust, and I was there.
“Oh, fuck, Pax. Hmmm yes, fuck me. Aahh, right there baby. Harder.”
Paxton pumped deeper, harder, and faster. I came, whimpering and trembling, below him. He steadied himself, burying his face in in my hair and released with me. His waist shoved hard into me and his lips sucked hard on my neck.
The grip I had on the covers below me relaxed at the same time my tense legs fell to the bed. Heavy pants calmed into deep breaths between us and we melted, maybe into one.
“Fuck, Gabriela. What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with me? We don’t do this.”
My mind went to one thing, the thought hitting me like a flashflood. “You never answered me about getting pregnant.”
“What?”
“I don’t take a pill. Can I get pregnant?”
“Why does it matter?”
I looked over his shoulder to a candle sconce on the wall and sighed, real life taking over the fantasy. “Let me up. I want to go shower.”
Paxton slid out of me, coming to his feet with a distasteful glare. Just like that, he was gone. “You can’t get pregnant.”
“Why? I had Ophelia, didn’t I?” I questioned, heart in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes, you screwed that up, too. Not only did you have another girl, you can’t even try again. You’ve always been a failure. I’m going to bed.”
Paxton spat his hurtful words at me and then he climbed from my bed. I was stunned, but I didn’t know why. Paxton had said a lot of mean things to me. This one hurt a little.
“Wow, Paxton. Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes.”
Paxton’s eyes snapped to mine, fierce and angry. “Taylor Swift. That’s cute. How is it you can remember the words to high school songs, but not who you are?”
I sat up and scratched my head when he slid his shorts up his hips commando style, and left me. “And another one bites the dust,” I said out of frustration. This guy had some serious issues. I would have given anything to know what they were. Jesus Christ.
My lavender scented shower was spent, reflecting, first on why I couldn’t get pregnant, and then the sex. For the first time since my accident I understood something that I couldn’t begin to describe. Paxton was a drug to me, having the same effect as cocaine on an addict. It was physical, enhanced with complicated emotions and powerful poisons. I even felt like I wanted to crash, yet I was still feeling the high, the memory burning my chest every time I thought about it.
- Предыдущая
- 37/65
- Следующая
