Take Me

by Caitlin Crews

  “Very nice,” Dylan said, and the relief that swamped her then was as sharp and thick as what had come before. It almost knocked her sideways. “I wasn’t sure you could follow directions, Jenny. I’m proud of you.”

  And he was behind her, then. She even thought she could feel the heat he generated, though he didn’t touch her.

  “Look at you. That pussy is so wet. So needy. There’s only one thing for it.”

  Jenny had lost the power of speech. She’d left it somewhere in that neat pile of her clothes, and she thought she would die... If he touched her. If he didn’t. If he didn’t do something with her, because the fact he’d even mentioned her pussy made it throb. And she could feel a surge of raw, molten need overtake her again.

  Then he touched her at last, coming up flush behind her so she could feel the scratchy material of his jeans against the curve of her ass. And his hands moved, running up the length of her spine, then down again. As if he was memorizing her. Then down the length of her arms, too. One hand moved to the nape of her neck, his thumb moving in a restless sort of demand, and she didn’t understand how this small a touch could undo her so completely.

  She felt moisture in the corners of her eyes again, and she knew that it was tears. Though she was nothing so simple as sad. Jenny couldn’t contain all the things she felt inside. They wouldn’t fit.

  He shifted again, and reached out. She heard him pick up something from the array beside her. He let go of her for a moment, though he still stood close behind her. He unzipped his jeans and the sound of it was like a scream, there in the hushed confines of this bathroom.

  Then she felt him, silken hot and hard like steel against the curves of her ass.

  And this was Dylan. That was Dylan’s cock, huge and hard behind her, and it was Dylan who she’d come all this way to see, when she had no idea what she was asking for. Just as he’d told her she didn’t.

  Dylan, something in her screamed. As if maybe she should stop this.

  But it only made her wetter.

  She heard the sound of the condom packet ripping, and some movement from behind her. Then one of his arms came beneath her hips to angle her up higher, even farther onto her toes.

  “Tiptoes, please,” he said, and the fact he could sound so normal made her shudder.

  And then he was there, the broad, wide head of his cock pushing into her folds. She was glad she was so sodden, so hot already, because he was already a stretch.

  He didn’t wait. He didn’t let her get used to him. He pushed into her, relentless and sure.

  And worse, somehow, slow.

  Inexorable.

  All she could feel was that stretch, that radical fullness. He was too big, and she wanted to panic, but all she could do was pant.

  Still he pushed in, inch by inch, crowding her. Taking her over.

  And when she thought she might move her hips a bit to make it better, to ease that initial penetration, she realized that he was holding her fast. He was making her take it. Forcing her to accept him, all of him, just as he liked.

  She cracked, then, the orgasm walloping her, though she was not entirely comfortable, not sure she could be, and she was bent over a sink with her ass in the air and he was inside her—Dylan was inside her—and she was entirely full of his cock, so big and so hard she didn’t understand how she’d spent all this time in his presence and never noticed that he was huge—

  When he was fully inside her, thrust deep, he stopped. She kept clenching and shuddering around him, but he stayed still and hard.

  And something flipped over inside her, some kind of awe, as it began to dawn on her that he was totally and completely in control of himself.

  “Stand up,” Dylan said, and his voice was huskier. That was it. “And you can open your eyes if you like.”

  But his arm was still tight around her hips, so as she straightened, she had to arch.

  And that was what she saw as she rose. Her body arched toward the mirror, her breasts high and her nipples tight, and some other woman’s face where hers ought to have been. Wild and abandoned and drunk on sensation.

  While behind her, Dylan loomed dark, hard and everything.

  His cock was lodged deep inside her, and he kept himself there as she came up, his other hand moving around to the front of her. He traced a light line down the front of her, trailing fire, then pressed hard where they were joined, letting her know without a word how well he knew her clit already. How easily he commanded it, and her.

  And satisfaction glinted in his gaze when she let out a soft cry, another punch of something not quite an orgasm slamming into her. He moved his hand up over her belly, letting her feel her own moisture as he slowly dragged his way across her skin. And he held himself still, his cock hard and deep, as his hand found her breast. He weighed it in his palm, then dragged his thumb over her nipple, making her moan as the sensation punched through her again.

  Still his hand rose, while his green gaze pinned her in the mirror as surely as his cock was buried inside her. His hand kept moving, until it came up to circle her throat.

  “I don’t want you to forget where we are, slip off your tiptoes and choke,” he told her, dark and low. His hand almost a collar, but not quite. Dylan and not Dylan, all at once, and that was its own punch. “But that might take work. I want you to do that work.”

  And she could see herself. She could see that dazed look on her face and the way each breath she took made her breasts bounce a little. More than that, she could see the intensity in his gaze, and the absolute certainty.

  It made her, if not certain on her own, willing to trust that he was.

  She nodded, but she couldn’t access her voice. And she couldn’t keep her hands from coming up to grip onto his strong forearm.

  “If you don’t want my hand there, that’s fine,” he told her, his green gaze direct. So intense she was sure that he could see straight through her, as deep as that giant cock of his was, buried inside her. “Pull it away. All right?”

  Again, she nodded, and she could feel his hand strong at her throat. Not tight, but the faint suggestion of restriction made a new kind of sensation prickle down her back. Her clit seemed to swell.

  “Up on your toes, Jenny,” he said again, darker this time.

  And then he fucked her.

  There was no other word for it, and with each deep, raw slam of his cock deep into her body, she understood the difference in a way no one could possibly have explained to her.

  If there was a rhythm, she couldn’t catch it. There was no way to move her hips, either with him or against him.

  It was a hammering.

  He held her at her hips and at her throat, and it was up to her to grip his arm. To stand up on the very tips of her toes—because if she didn’t, she would collapse against him and maybe choke for a moment. Or worse, he would stop.

  It was a storm. It was magnificent, it was terrifying, and he fucked her hard.

  And he changed her, every time his cock slammed deep.

  Because his green gaze never wavered. He kept it trained on hers, and he watched as she sobbed. As she cried out. She hung on for dear life, he hammered into her and her body exploded.

  Over and over again.

  And it wasn’t just her clit. Her whole body seem to come, not just her nipples and her pussy, but everything. Every inch of her, a clenching and a shuddering, inside and out. He fucked her relentlessly, so hard it was like he was making her new.

  He fucked her while she burned and fell apart, and he fucked her on and on until she couldn’t tell the difference between the fucking and the coming, a sob and a sigh.

  And when she finally drooped a little, still trying to hold on to his forearm but no longer able to make her fingers grip, he shifted. He pulled out, then tumbled her down with him onto the ground. And that was part of it, she understood—t
hat it was a bathroom. That no matter how nice the rug, it was on a bathroom floor.

  And she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but Dylan coming down over her, still fully dressed, except for the jeans he’d opened to let himself free.

  She had a glimpse of it, his huge, hard cock. And the look on his face, almost like an agony, as he stretched out over her. He pulled one of her knees up high, then sank deep into her again.

  Then, if it was possible, he fucked her even harder. Even deeper.

  And Jenny was sure she was done, that her body couldn’t take any more, but he dropped his head to her breast and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. She came, that easily. Once, then again. And when she was positive that this time, she really was finished, he grinned at her. All wolf.

  Dylan reached down between them and pinched her clit, hard.

  Jenny screamed, but his other hand was there, covering her mouth. Taking the sound. Making it part of her coming again, in a wild, clenching rush.

  Then he was groaning too, and she could feel him shudder as he came. His whole body shook as he pumped himself into her, it seemed to go on forever, and that was even hotter.

  For a long while, there was nothing but breath. Both of them, breathing heavily and loud in the quiet little room.

  He was crushing her down into the plush rug, and she could feel his cock inside her, semihard still. Dylan stirred, after what seemed like another long while, and lifted his weight off her.

  And when his eyes met hers, she could have sworn that for the first time in as long as she’d known him, he looked guarded.

  Jenny didn’t think. She lifted her hand, and took his face in her palm. She wanted to ask him if he was all right, but there was something in his face that kept her from it.

  So instead, she kissed him, and not one of those carnal, impossible kisses from before.

  This was sweet. Soft. It made her want to cry.

  And maybe it did something to him, too, because he looked away. His breath came heavy again, but then he was rolling off her, and she had to cope with how empty she felt without his cock so deep inside her.

  He moved to the sink and handled the condom, then he zipped himself up. And when he looked back at her, she could only imagine how she looked. Sprawled out naked, save for a pair of heels, utterly and completely debauched on the bathroom floor.

  It was Dylan who had done this to her.

  Her Dylan, and Jenny could feel a reckoning gathering around her. She understood that there was no possible way that she could process any of what had happened tonight, maybe ever. In that moment, she didn’t care about that, either.

  He looked down at her, and he had that stranger’s face on, and now she knew what it meant. Now she knew all of him.

  She lifted her arms up over her head, and she stretched. She felt sleepy, comprehensively used in the best kind of way, and the smile that took over her face felt silly.

  Giddy, even.

  But she let it. She didn’t try to hide it.

  Because there might be hell to pay later, so there was no point pretending now.

  “That was nice enough, Dylan, thanks,” she told him, in a voice that sounded cracked and torn and as thoroughly debauched as the rest of her. “But is that really all you’ve got?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  OF ALL THE mistakes Dylan had made in his lifetime, most of them concerning Jenny, this one was the worst.

  The absolute worst of all. He knew it, and there was nothing for it.

  It was done.

  He helped her get to her feet, unable to keep himself from grinning as she fell against him, and laughed uproariously. For all intents and purposes, she looked drunk.

  On him.

  “I understand you’re underwhelmed, Jenny,” he murmured. “But any reasonable person would have to describe your particular behavior just now as a bit giddy, don’t you think?”

  He was already hard again, because this was Jenny and he had years to make up for. He watched her as she pulled her clothes back on, then did nothing more with her hair than run a hand through it. And like that, she was once again the very picture of casual elegance.

  “I’ll concede what happened was indeed a fucking,” she said, as if they were back in Oxford, studying something boring. She even managed to look prim, as if he hadn’t just been inside her. “But whether or not it was proper, I couldn’t say. I don’t have any context, do I?”

  “I think your whole life until now would qualify as context,” he said dryly.

  “You’ve taught me the difference between a shag and a fuck.” She sketched a little curtsy that was so cute he thought his chest might crack open. “But now I think we need to turn our attention to what makes for a proper fucking, which as you may recall was what the doctor ordered.”

  He was leaning back against the counter, near her but not touching her. Because if he touched her again, he would repeat what had just happened. And as tempting as that was, he had a powerful need to put this woman in his bed, at last. Then take his sweet time. Over and over again, until he lost track.

  And before she woke in the bright light of a new day and thought better of all of this.

  “Your wish is my command, as always,” he told her.

  She laughed at that, as if it wasn’t the humbling truth of his entire adult life. His guiding star, even. His true north had always been Jenny, and he suspected it always would be, whether she was married or not. But that was one more thing he kept to himself.

  He threw open the door, watching Jenny turn red as she noticed that he hadn’t bothered to lock it. And he liked the way she blushed so much that he decided not to tell her that there was no need to lock the door when the staff was perfectly well trained to take care of any possible interlopers. Why ruin her fantasy that she could have been walked in on at any time?

  Dylan led her out a different door than the one they’d come in, this one higher up the hill, where a car waited for them. Because he didn’t feel like driving them home tonight, as that might require he take his hands off her.

  And he might only have this one night. He couldn’t let himself forget that for a second. He had to make the most of it.

  But when Dylan settled in the backseat beside her, he wasn’t prepared for the way Jenny melted into his side. She snuggled into him, then dropped her head to his shoulder. As if they’d done this a thousand times before and she knew she would fit next to him so well. As if it was normal for them to cuddle up in the backseat of a car, or anywhere else.

  And what killed him was that it felt perfectly normal. It felt right. Everything with Jenny always did and always had. That was just one of the many ways she’d ruined him from the start.

  Because there was no having her. There was only losing her.

  He’d made a decision a long time ago to make himself over into whoever and whatever she needed, even if that meant not getting what he wanted. That meant he got a hell of a lot more than any of those idiots who’d tried to be her boyfriend.

  Tonight he’d crossed every last line he’d ever drawn.

  He could boss everything around as he pleased, and did, but he had no control over his own damned heart.

  And he had to sit with that, staring out the window as the lights of Sydney blurred together in front of him. Jenny was a soft weight against him, her breath slow and even and her face buried against his shoulder.

  For once in his life, he had everything he’d ever wanted. And more than he’d imagined was possible.

  Enjoy it, mate, he told himself darkly.

  Because it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last.

  Her hand was on his leg, and the light spilled in from the streets outside. It made her look even prettier, which shouldn’t have been possible.

  It also illuminated that great bloody boulder she wore on her hand. The ring that rem
inded him that she wasn’t his. That this was an interlude from her real life. That she’d come here because she knew exactly what she was getting herself into with this marriage her father wanted, and this was her last chance to taste how the other half lived before she surrendered to it.

  He knew her too well. She might come to the other side of the globe to experiment, but she was going to go straight back. Jenny was going to lock herself away in her lonely little life, by choice. She was going to stay there, getting more brittle and far away by the year. He could see it all spin out in front of him.

  She was never going to give him what he wanted from her.

  Everything had changed and nothing had changed.

  And at least Dylan could say he’d chosen his own ruin. At least he had that.

  That was what he told himself when they arrived at his house. She was still so sleepy that he had to lift her into his arms, then carry her inside, the way he’d longed to do a million times before.

  He didn’t take her into the guest room. He headed up the stairs to the master bedroom instead, because he could feel time slipping away from them. And he didn’t want to waste any of it. He lay her out on his big wide bed and helped her off with her clothes. He expected her to wake up, but she didn’t. She murmured something when she was naked, then curled up on her side, burying her face in his pillow.

  Dylan didn’t have it in him to pretend that he was anything but shaken.

  He didn’t have to pretend, because she was asleep. And he could take the opportunity to acknowledge that for all he’d tried his best to scare her off, or prepare her, he was the one who was losing it. Who’d already lost it. Who could do nothing but sit in a chair next to his own bed, staring at this woman who was every single one of his dreams come true.

  Only while she slept, unknowing, could he think about the fact that she’d obeyed him completely. That he’d fit inside her, perfectly. There had been no wincing in pain. No adjustments.

  It was as if Lady Jenny Markham had been put on this earth for the express purpose of taking his cock deep inside of her.