Perv (Filth #1) Page 8

  By the time I'm done with her in that position, waist up, there isn't an inch of skin that hasn't been under my mouth, tasted by my tongue, or caressed by my fingertips.

  She's a low-lidded, moaning mess when I flip her back over. She'll never question me about foreplay again. I will lick her elbow in a way that will make her come. My dick hates me, but it always does. And I'm not done yet.

  I draw my mouth back to hers. She whimpers in reply. I try not to smile but I'm an asshole. At least now we both know it.

  “Are you over foreplay?” I ask, in a reasonable tone. “Can I fuck you now?”

  “I hate you.”

  I kiss the corner of her mouth and then laugh.

  Her brows knit as she trembles. “I hate your smug face.”

  I sink my teeth into her bottom lip, and she sort of flails at my forehead to push me away.

  I release the plump flesh but stay close enough that when I talk my mouth will brush along hers. “Answer the question, Robyn.”

  “No. No more foreplay.”

  I press a chaste kiss to her cheek and roll onto my back. I'll give her a minute to recoup. My cock is peeking out through the boxer's hole. I make promises to it. Just wait your turn. I've waited for mine.

  I need my fix first. I need her taste living in the back of my throat. When I take a deep breath, her scent will be the only thing I smell. Her scent will be there because I had my nose pressed up against her clit. The way I need that is a sickness. I've never searched for a cure and I'm not going to now.

  I'm a pervert, and I like me that way.

  Somehow she finds the strength to climb onto my lap. Her curls are askew. Her mouth is swollen. There's a flush riding up from her torso to her cheeks. Her tits look like she got into a dangerous boob fight. I love the marks I gave her.

  But I'm aching.

  I shake my head. “Higher.”

  She squeezes me with her thighs and her shiver works through me too. “I thought foreplay was over.”

  I shake my head again. “It's never foreplay. It's endgame.”

  Robyn draws a circle around my nipple. I grab her hand. Our gazes meet. I feel on edge, and I probably look it. Messy hair, dark eyes, taut jawline and my scar is an ugly white line along my cheek.

  Tongue. Lip. She likes me on edge. “Is that what you call fucking?”

  I drop her hand. “The way I do it, yes? But don't worry, I'm giving you my cock too.”

  “So what do you need, Nathan?”

  I cup her ass, get a good grip and lift her off my cock and up until she can straddle my face. “Hands on the headboard.”

  That move, right there, is why I continue to bench press insane weights.

  She grabs hold, a giggle spilling out. Robyn giggles. Jesus. I scoot down so she's positioned over my shoulders. The heels of her feet touch beneath my arms. She's gripped the top rail with both arms and is staring down at me. The flush has deepened. I'm getting a full view of the curve of her breasts. Bite marks there, too. I clasp her thighs, glide my hands up until I can squeeze her ass cheeks—soft, firm, goddamn decadent. Her femininity surrounds me.

  I inhale deeply. Robyn's scent is thick from the foreplay. A groan works its way out of my mouth before I can curtail the sound.

  I focus.

  If I've done my job, she'll taste like sex along her inner thighs. The foreplay wasn't just for her. I wanted her wet enough to drip. She has. I angle my mouth to begin there. I play clean up first—licking and sucking every bit of juice she smeared along the sensitive skin.

  She perches lower, her back curved in an arch. Her outer lips get the same clean-up treatment, and it sounds like wet, messy work as I slurp her into my mouth.

  “Nathan,” she murmurs, and I can taste the subtle change to her cream.

  But I take my time, ignoring those cues, waiting for the one that could make me come. It's not the moans or the trembling. Not the pissed off glare she gives me as I lick everything but her clit. Not even the way she fists my hair and tries to direct me.

  The cue comes when her lips peel back on a frustrated growl and she drags her clit over my tongue. A soft rock at first, and then harder.

  I grunt. There. I stiffen my tongue so she can rock her sweet spot where she needs it. Her head falls back in ecstasy. I land a hard blow on her ass to egg her on. Yes. That. Ride my mouth.

  “Fuck,” she spits at me, but Whimpering Robyn is gone. I Need This Robyn is grinding back and forth.

  I let her fuck herself into oblivion using my tongue as her new favorite sex toy. I know she's almost there when she grabs the headboard with her free hand and she seems to lose control of her hips. She's panting my name. The single syllable pounds into me. Finally she stills, a sob caught in her throat. I grab hold of her ass and help her finish with a few well-placed licks and sucks. Her thighs are wet from my mouth and her come. She's shaking from head to toe and leaning against the headboard. It's beautiful. I'm back on clean up as she continues to moan in jerky patterns.

  I'm drowning in the taste of her, and my dick hurts so good. I reach down to release my cock from my boxers, because she's wet and so am I.

  But this is my favorite part. I trail my tongue to her entrance and slide my way in. My hand and my tongue are both teasing in slow strokes. My tongue will never be my dick but I'm licking inside her, fucking her this way. She's arching into my mouth, into my face as though my tongue can grow more inches. The action is profane, tantalizing.

  I close my eyes and die a little at the perfection of being able to lick deep inside her. To have her wild and unthinking. She's shuddering above me, and maybe this will be all she can take of my mouth.

  I squeeze my cock's head—once, twice. I don't need much with her so close again, filling my mouth with her true flavor. With her scent so buried in my nostrils, I'm going to smell Robyn for days.

  My cock strains, heats. Pulse. Pulse. I stroke and squeeze. Pulse. Stroke. I'm groaning against her pussy lips as come spills on my hand and stomach.

  “Nate. Nate.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I hate you. Don't stop.”

  I reward her with slow open mouth sucks. Faster and a little tongue. She cries uncle after she comes from that. She dismounts from my face in a hazy flop. I'm in too deep to laugh at her reaction this time.

  I'm up, stripping out of my boxers. I wipe up any come—hers and mine—that remains. I'm hard again already, and the condom I dig out of my nightstand goes on easy.

  The brows-up expression on her face asks me, And dick too?

  I'm hell on women. I know that, but Robyn shifts to the middle of the mattress, telling me in our silent language to bring it on. There's heat in her gaze that promises retribution for everything I've done to her in my bed. Every time I've made her come or scream.

  There's not going to be a wedding when we're done with each other. There will be gravestones. She's spreading her legs for me, crooking her finger, as she bites the side of her mouth. I cannot wait to die.

  I climb back onto the bed. I take what's mine, and she moans into my mouth as I kiss her. I press the tip of my cock into her. So good. So fucking wet. I bite her mouth and I might have growled at her. She digs her nails into my back and she's definitely whimpering again.

  Deeper.

  We arch into each other. I have to brace my hands against the mattress. I know the heaven my dick is experiencing. It's making my tailbone pulse. I've tasted it. I can inhale and smell that paradise.

  I bite her a little harder because no person should have this kind of power, but I'm already stroking her again. Her thrust meets mine. If I bite her any deeper, I'll draw blood. I edge back and watch how her lips frame my dick. Her pussy is a snug fit. Pink and brown. Wet. So wet. If I hadn't jacked off while I ate her, this would be the end. My chest, my face, are hot and so goddamn tight from need I'm surprised I don't melt or break apart into pieces.

  And no matter how I move my hips—fast or slow—she keeps up. That seals her fate for next time.
I'm tying her up.

  Until then we fuck each other. The rhythm is angry and slow. The only time she gives me a reprieve is when she comes. She likes to be kissed when she comes. Loves it more when I squeeze a tit.

  At some point I can only brace my hands on the mattress, my face buried in her hair as I growl-grunt with every thrust. I'm not sure who is sweating more, but we're both dripping in her scent, in mine. I love it. I want to roll in it until there's no other smell. She's reduced me to an animal.

  Or maybe I'm trying to fuck some sense back into her. When I finally let myself come, she won't care about revenge. When I come, I can walk away from her. This time for good. I can't exist as a cock, a mouth and her.

  “Nate...”

  I can. Just for a little while longer.

  “Nate,” she sobs.

  My body answers by surging harder, deeper into her. Her pussy clamps tight around my cock, and that snug fit becomes a vise. The Disney Princess inside me rises up to moan. Twice. Fuck. Robyn is dragging me with her over the edge.

  There's no fighting the way my balls pull tight to my body. That pulse at the base of my spine is a hammer now. I shudder my way through the orgasm, my hips moving in jerks, because I've lost control now too.

  I swallow her name though. I refuse to utter Robyn, like saying her name matters as my head and cock explode from the pleasure.

  Her name cuts on its way down.

  Robyn

  “What is it?” Nate asks.

  He's standing in front of his dresser and I'm by the bed, but the mirror reflects his gorgeous back. Yes, gorgeous. You know, in every movie ever, where the camera is above a couple making love, and the man's back is all deep slopes, framed by corded muscles?

  His is better.

  An hour, maybe more, has passed since we left his bed, and only now are we trying to get our shit together. He's slipped into gray sweats that hang low on his hips. Either he's half-mast or the sweats prove once again to be god's gift to horny humanity.

  “Nothing.” I readjust the towel. I'm wet from him and the shower.

  One side of my brain is fully aware I need to leave before things between us get any more complicated. He's supposed to be a one-off. The guy I use to help me focus on my life, my needs, to be selfish for a little while. I've put all my feelings, wants, and needs on the backburner for close to a year. Two years if you want to be technical.

  I'm following Samantha's rules.

  Kind of.

  I can until he asks about Loraine, pushing hard for an answer. Samantha didn't cover that in her simple rule. What am I supposed to do when the fuckboy cares? Then something dark sweeps up inside me, and I have to ask, have to know, do you remember her name?

  See.

  This is all fucked up beyond all recognition—best known as FUBAR. I tear my gaze away from him and search for my dress. I have no clue where he tossed it before jumping me.

  “Check under the bed,” he says, as always, reading my mind.

  I don't linger over that facet of him. I drop to my hands and knees. There's my dress tucked under his bed. Right along with socks, shoes, a half-eaten bag of chips, and for some reason, a Mason jar filled with clear liquid.

  When I straighten, I look him dead in the eye, “What's in the Mason jar?”

  He laughs, not an ounce of shame in the sound. “Moonshine.”

  My stomach warms. His accent makes me think of lighting bugs, lazy summer days and the tart sweetness of honey. I don't want to like the way his timbre plays over my skin but, as always, it draws me in.

  “My father got me some for my 21st birthday,” I find myself confessing. “Had to smuggle it across a few state lines in my mother's purse. She was against the idea.”

  “The school teacher? What a rebel. Is that who you get it from?”

  I press my hand to the knot of the towel. “I shouldn't be surprised you know about my father.” I think about that, feeling disarmed. “Probably know about my mother too.”

  “Doctor.”

  Yet he doesn't know Loraine. Or he does and it makes no difference to him.

  It's him and me.

  Just Nate and I.

  No one else.

  “Of course you know,” I say as the realization comes to me. “You're friends with a guy like Duke.”

  “Guy like Duke?” His expression darkens. He's on the defense about his friend.

  He doesn't have to tell me how he feels about the man. It's right there in his stiff posture and the tightening of his mouth.

  He knows the depth of friendship.

  Again, I have to say, it's just him and me.

  “I've heard stories about his paralegals hiding in hedges to take money shots of witnesses to discredit their testimony. If you had him hunt down my name, Duke will likely know why I have a scar on my left knee.”

  His shoulders lower. “I noticed it.”

  The reply is guarded, and I don't know where the hell my walls have gone because I'm spilling words again. “Long story short, I was a tomboy. I had a bike and a makeshift ramp to test out.”

  He shakes his head. “I only got the facts about you. The details of your life, not so much.”

  I fiddle with the towel. “Questions?”

  He makes an ummm sound, crossing the room to his bed to sit on the edge. If I lift my hand I can cup his cheek, but that action is too soft for what we are. I'm holding my dress instead of tossing it on. I'm standing there a few feet in front of him, instead of throwing up the peace sign and heading for the door. The problem is I've slathered on his soap that smells like a forest of man, and I'm close enough to him to know the fragrance is better on his skin.

  He leans on his elbows and holds my stare. I'm sure now he's half-mast. His lids have lowered and there's a flush to his neck and torso that makes me want to bite him.

  Straddle his lap.

  Suck his bottom lip.

  Anything but talk and open myself to him.

  “Never mind,” I say. “You don't care.”

  His head shake is slight. “I'm curious, but the way you're looking at me...”

  Does he need to finish the thought? I'm on death row, and he's my last meal. “Curious about what?”

  “Why are you so comfortable with my kink?”

  This I can answer without feeling like an exposed wire but, just in case, I drop my dress next to him on the bed and straddle his lap. The towel gives, showing all my worldly goods below the waist. His gaze doesn't waver for two full seconds.

  I splay my hands on his chest. His skin is still damp from our shared shower. No pun intended, but we kept it clean. “Do you really want to hear about my sex life with other men?”

  Something hot and sharp flashes in his eyes. “Keep it vague.”

  “Sophomore year in college, my roommate was into BDSM. She took me to a club where I giggled half the night. Until the end. A man was being punished by his Domme. A woman. She took off one long glove and gave him an open palm. It was oddly beautiful and soothing. Arousing. She didn't touch his cock, and he still came at the last hit.”

  He's silent as he takes in my words so I shift on his lap. Yeah. He's halfway there.

  Nate murmurs, “You're attracted to the power exchange.”

  “Maybe, but I find it interesting what gets us off has very little to do with the actual act of sex.” I coast forward until my hands frame his head. I inhale. “The way a man smells, the way his gaze darkens, how his voice pitches low...” I slide my pussy lower over his gray sweats.

  He's not half-mast now, but he only watches me. “Letting him spank you?”

  “Let him is the important phrase here. So...not power but control.”

  “You topped from the bottom.” He shakes his head as though he’s disappointed, but there's a wicked light in his eyes. “Yeah. I can see you as a bad submissive.”

  “Which is why I'm not in the lifestyle.”

  His chin tilts up and his eyes are laser sharp. “Who gave you trust issues?”

>   I bite his lip to shut him up. He laughs. I've made it obvious he's hit a soft spot, but he can't have access to my sore bits. I don't care how good he is in bed, he can't cup my pain and inspect it.

  If I give him Lawrence's name...If I tell Nate how my first crossed the line during a scene, made obey an ugly word for me—I can't do that. I'm not still writhing in the pain of that mistrust but it's part of my DNA now.

  Nathan can't have my blueprint.

  I add tongue after the bite and his laugh dies.

  Better.

  He trails his hands beneath the towel to cup my ass and then I'm on the bed, on my back, the towel gone.

  Much better.

  He's a mouth and cock again, not Nate—the guy I'm finding it harder and harder to keep hating.

  ~CHAPTER SEVEN~

  Robyn glances at me, flushes deeply, and looks forward again. “Don't even look at me in a sexy way.”

  “Then wear panties.”

  I catch the smile before she sucks her teeth at me. “Learn some self-control.”

  She tells me this as we wait for her Uber ride in my living room. The TV is playing one of those shows that is on a perpetual rerun. She's sideways on my lap, on her phone, doing her best to ignore my dick.

  I'm kind of sprawled to the side, leaning on the couch arm so I can see the flat screen. It's the perfect position for reverse cowgirl, with a little adjusting, and that's why I dragged her into my lap while we wait. Call me what you want, but I'm an optimist.

  She frowns at her phone and types in a message. “Now that I think about it, if I were to wear panties, you'd just steal them.”

  I would, and I would sniff them if the thought of her tried to stray from my mind. I'm fucked when it comes to her. I know this, but I don't think she realizes her power yet. I plan to keep things between us that way until I can—come up with a plan? A cure? Or fuck, know where her head is at.

  “Where's the car?” I ask, trying for casual.

  “Stop trying to think about how fast you can fuck me.”

  I wasn't. Entirely. I was just going to fingerbang her so if her mind tried to stray away from me and back to revenge...