The door closes, but I know he hasn’t left because the air still crackles. He takes the seat in front of me.
“Why are you here?” I ask not looking up, trying to read the next line about contracts, something about considerations. I’m never going to get this shit.
“I’m trying to study.”
“So, why not go into an empty study room if you want to study? Is it your mission to piss me off?”
“I figured you needed the company. And yeah, I have a mission, but pissing you off isn’t the goal.”
“Then what is it?” I ask, and immediately regret it. I stop looking at my outline and direct my eyes to him. My panties are suddenly drenched.
“Do you want the truth?” he asks in a husky voice. His eyes hold so much heat.
“Obviously,” I snap back in reply. Bravado. That’s all I have left.
“I’d settle for fucking you on this table,” he says without breaking eye contact. He sets the palm of his hand on the surface, showing me exactly where.
He’d settle for fucking me?
I can tell he’s waiting for me to shy away from his crude comment, to look away first. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“What do you think?” he asks, his blue eyes holding desire, lust, and maybe a hint of vulnerability.
I lick my lips. It’s going to be impossible for me to focus on studying right now. I’m going to be too damn busy thinking about the way he could make me feel.
“What do I think?” I ask, still a little stunned by his proposition. Stunned, and incredibly turned on. “Don’t you have a fucking filter?” I say.
“I should clarify,” he says with a smirk. “When I say fuck, I mean fuck. I’m not going to make love to you. Making love implies I’ll be tender, sweet, and gentle. But trust me, Gracelynn, that’s not what I have in mind. I want to fuck you. I want to spread you on this table, eat you out until you’re screaming my name, and then fuck you so hard you’ll walk into your test on legs so shaky it’ll look like you’ve forgotten how to use them.”
I don’t know what to say, and because I know my voice will betray me, I say nothing at all.
His hands curl into fists on the tabletop. “I know you feel it too. Ever since that first fucking day we met in the men’s room at the bar, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I have exams too, and I can’t focus knowing how badly I want you. So, do us both a favor and give in to what you know we both want.”
“If by ‘feel it’,” I say, making air quotes, “you mean I am consumed with anger when I see you, then yes, I feel it.” Lies. Lies. Lies. I need to get out of here before I step over the edge of the precipice and can’t come back. I start packing up my things, my eyes on my task and not on the blue-eyed Adonis in front of me. I know if I stay, I might do something I’ll regret. I throw my laptop into my bag, unplug the charger from the wall, and pick everything else up from the table. He’s been watching me the whole time, but when I close my bag, he stands up from his seat and walks toward me. I stand stock-still, barely breathing as he comes to stand behind me. His body is a wall of heat at my back. A wall of muscle and strength and…
Oh, God, I want him. I want him to do every wicked thing he can think of.
“I mean,” he whispers, right into my ear, his breath warm on my skin, “There really is nothing like anticipation, and nothing quite as satisfying as that moment when you finally get what you’ve been craving.” He plants a kiss on the side of my neck and I shiver.
“I don’t feel—”
The words die on my lips as he spins me around and he pins me with a feral, possessive stare. My mouth goes dry. He watches as I lick my lips, his eyes darkening, reminding me of the color of the Mediterranean at midnight.
“You don’t feel this?” he asks, closing the distance. Instinctively, I move away from him until I feel my ass hit the table. I am suddenly caged, trapped with a man who is watching me like he wants to feast on me.
I shake my head
“I do,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine—devouring, consuming and utterly annihilating my self-control. His tongue enters my mouth possessively. It’s the best fucking kiss I’ve ever experienced, and I give into it faster than I should. I know he’s right; I won’t be able to focus until I stop fantasizing about him. I’ve orgasmed to thoughts of him plenty of times on my own. Maybe all I need is to give in to this one time.
Just one time, I tell myself.
I press myself into him, begging him to fulfill his earlier promise. Through his jeans, I can feel his hardened cock pushing against my stomach.
I give into the kiss more and my hands start roaming over his muscular body. God, I’ve imagined myself doing this since I saw him working out at the gym. He suddenly breaks the kiss and I’m left panting, waiting for more. Looking up, I search his eyes for the reason he stopped.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t feeling it?” he says with a cocky grin.
The asshole wants me to admit it.
“I won’t beg,” I answer, not giving him the satisfaction.
“I just need to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you on this table,” he says matter-of-factly, his hands coming to the flat surface once more. I look down at where his strong, capable fingers are splayed against the wood. I bite my lip as images of what he’ll do to me assault me like a physical blow. I look up into his face, startled to see such strength and…dominance in his eyes—a promise not just to me, but to himself also. He will own my body after this; I just have to make sure that’s all he takes.
“I…” I almost give him what he wants, but reality kicks in. Instead, I say, “This is a public room. Anyone can walk by. Someone we know could walk in.”
“That only makes it more thrilling. Plus, it’s 2am—everyone is asleep. This study room is the furthest one from the rest; it wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice.”
I lick my lips, considering his words. My eyes dart to the glass entrance. If anyone was to come down this far, they’d have first-class seats. I try to stifle my moan as my thighs become slick with my own arousal.
“Stop overthinking,” he says, reading my mind. Taking me by the chin, he forces my eyes to meet his. “You’re turned on by the idea of us fucking on this table, aren’t you?”
I try to arch against his body, try to rub myself like a cat, aching to feel him against me once more.
He chuckles, taking a small step away, creating a void that feels like it’s hundreds of feet wide rather than just a few inches. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you want me to fuck you on this table.”
Biting my lip, I whisper, “I want you to do that.”
“You want me to what?” he presses.
I meet his gaze, his dominating, unyielding eyes full of lust and need.
“I want you to fuck me on this table,” I tell him.
“That’s all you had to say,” he says, lifting me onto the top in one quick movement. His lips are on mine in the next breath.
Devouring.
Claiming.
Dominating.
He takes one of my breasts into his hand, the fabric of my dress rubbing against my over-sensitive nipples. I cry out at the sensation as Ethan lowers his mouth to where his hand is kneading and plucking at my puckered flesh. I shudder when his teeth graze my nipple. Unable to wait any longer, I start tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer so I can reach the buckle on his belt.
“No,” he growls, stopping my hands. “I’m in control here.” His words stun me, but they also thrill me. He takes the top of my dress, pulling it down until both of my breasts are bared to him. He grins at me wickedly. “I knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”
I always thought that an orgasm brought on by good foreplay was a myth, as rare and unlikely as seeing a UFO, or eating ten pounds of chocolate and not putting on weight. Now I know better. Ethan is teaching me that. I can feel my orgasm barreling through me, a freight train of bli
ss that will shatter my entire world because I know he and his damn demands were responsible for it.
I give a very unlady-like grunt of encouragement, all ability to speak temporarily lost. With another wicked grin, he switches to my other breast, his tongue darting out to tease my nipple. His free hand brushes along my side, slowly traveling down my body. His fingertips feel calloused against my heated skin, tracing their way down between my thighs. When he finds how soaked my panties already are, he groans.
In one violent movement, he tears them from my body. He finds my sex again and slides his fingers through my slit. I whimper at the contact. Pulling away, he brings his finger to his mouth, tasting me.
“Fuck, I’m really going to enjoy this,” he says. I try to unbuckle his belt again, desperate to have him inside of me. He grips my wrists.
“Raise your hands above your head,” he commands.
“Why?”
“Lift them or we’ll stop,” he says and though I hate being ordered around, I comply.
Taking the belt from his jeans, he binds my wrists together and then pushes me back on the table.
Fear slithers down my spine for the briefest moment. What if someone comes in here? What if they see? My thoughts are derailed when I hear Ethan’s sharp intake of breath.
“A feast,” he murmurs, his gaze hungrily taking in my body, obviously happy with the position he’s got me in. I am his for the taking. Completely. Setting a chair in front of me, he grabs the edge of my dress, pausing to look at me expectantly. I lift my hips, watching him bunch the fabric up on my stomach.
“Down,” he says softly. As soon as my ass hits the table, he hooks one leg at a time over his shoulders—then he just stares, fixated on my weeping core. With a quiet growl, he leans in and laps at me.
“Oh, fuck me!” I yell, unable to muffle the words. I immediately regret the outburst, praying that nobody else heard me.
“I’d be happy to do that, but I’m going to stay right here for a little while.” He makes a show of licking his lips. “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to the idea of this exact scene.” Before I can reply, he leans back down, guiding his tongue through my pussy. He sucks at my clit, then drags the length of his tongue straight down the middle of my core. When he alternates between grazing his teeth along the inside of my thigh and fucking me with his tongue, the orgasm that has been slowly simmering in the background roars back to life.
He replaces his tongue with a finger. In a low voice, he says, “You’re so fucking tight.” He continues to lap at my clit, circling the bundle of nerves with increasing intensity. He slides in another finger, stretching me out. “I’ve got to get you ready for me,” he says, his breath a cool caress against my aching flesh. I groan when he slides in yet another finger, wondering whether my body will be able to handle his cock.
He stands up suddenly, the chair toppling backwards as he clamps down on one of my nipples. His body is bent over mine, his fingers still buried within me, his arm moving like a piston. My senses are overwhelmed, feeling every single sensation.
“Fuck,” I say on a breath.
“Give it to me, Gracey,” he whispers in a command.
And I do.
I give him everything, my inner walls pulsing and contracting around his fingers. A high keening sound escapes my throat as I ride my world-shattering orgasm. I don’t feel as if I have any control over my body. I can only imagine how I must look—panting, wanton, writhing on top of the table with my dress around my stomach and my bare breasts swollen and heavy.
“That was—” The best damn orgasm of my life “—amazing.” I don’t need to stroke his ego any more than that.
Grinning, he says, “That was just the beginning.” Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch him slowly unzip his jeans, his hot gaze pinned on my face. I bite my bottom lip and then my eyes drift down, down, down to his cock. Ethan looks down too, wrapping his hand around its base, pumping once, twice.
I slump back onto the table, but jolt up again when the head of his cock brushes up against my opening.
“Easy,” he murmurs, running his palms over my thighs like he’s calming a skittish horse.
I give him a tight nod. “Sorry.”
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
With one final stroke through my folds, he penetrates me. He stays like that for a moment, as deep as he can get, before pulling almost all the way out then slamming back inside. A hoarse groan rumbles out from his throat as he says, “Fuck, this is exactly what I imagined it would feel like to fuck you.” After that, he doesn’t take it slowly. As if sensing some kind of urgency, he begins to move, dragging his cock almost all the way out and then burying himself to the hilt again.
I feel every fucking inch of him as he pounds into me. He is exquisite. He is strength. He is…
“Argh, I’m going to come,” I say in a strangled whisper.
He groans and stops, pulling all the way out. He whips my dress over my head, leaving me completely exposed. “You’re not allowed to come yet. Get on all fours.”
I reposition myself on the table without hesitation, my elbows on the table, my bound hands in front of me. Despite how vulnerable I am, despite the way I hate how my body must look from this angle, I forget about it all when Ethan gives my ass an appreciative smack before sinking into me once more. Reaching one arm around, his deft fingers slide in between my folds, finding my clit. His strokes are impatient and unforgiving, driving into my body with unrelenting force. He is marking me, I realize, and I revel in that knowledge.
“Deeper,” I say, my voice sounding too needy in my ears.
With a small grunt, he joins me on the table, his length sliding back into me like were made for each other. His rhythm increases, the table slipping forward on the carpeted floor with each thrust.
“Fuck, I’m close, baby,” he says in between pants, and I’m right there with him.
Dropping my head, I look between my swaying breasts to where his cock is moving in and out of my body. The sight triggers yet another orgasm in me, and I feel it begin to build. Ethan tugs on my hair, pulling my head back firmly but not painfully. My body lifts with it and when my spine is flush to Ethan’s chest, he starts pumping into me again. The tension on my hair adds another layer to my orgasm, and as it races toward me with lightning speed, Ethan begins to chant, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His free arm wraps possessively around my stomach, his hand splayed on one of my breasts, his fingers plucking at my nipples. I break apart with a wanton moan, unable to hold back anymore. I scream out his name and then he’s coming, marking me. My breathing is harsh in my ears, but I realize it’s not just mine. Ethan is breathing just as hard.
A few minutes later he pulls free of my body. With surprising gentleness, he unwinds his belt from my wrists, rubbing at the faint red marks it left. He gives me an apologetic smile, then feathers a kiss against my temple.
“Here,” Ethan says, passing me the dress he practically tore from my body.
“Thank you.” My voice is soft, and I’m not sure what to make of what just happened. The post-sex glow is starting to wear off. I feel his seed slide out of me, down the inside of my thighs, and I’m thankful I’m on birth control. As I pull the dress over my head, I find him standing before me.
Leaning in, he gives me a quick kiss. “I think we’ll be able to focus on studying for the exam now.”
Withdrawal. Google defines it as the “reaction that accompanies the process of ceasing to take an addictive drug.” Based on this definition, I think it’s safe to say that I’m currently suffering through it. Why? What drug did I stop taking? Easy: Ethan. I allowed myself to give into something once, became addicted, and haven’t had it again.
I still can’t believe what we did. I also can’t believe that after it was over, he zipped up his pants, pulled out his laptop, and sat down. He literally sat down in front of me and began studying. I tried to resume my own studying, but my th
oughts were consumed by the way he’d made me come so long and so spectacularly.
I wasn’t able to focus, yet I hadn’t left. The two of us stayed in that room for hours, neither one of us saying anything else. Still, we caught each other staring every so often and smiled—both of us fulfilled and content.
Now here I am, wishing I could repeat what happened two weeks ago. But I can’t. Exams are really coming for us and I need to stay focused. Ethan, sexy-handsome as ever, is a distraction and one I cannot afford right now. I’ve worked too damn hard to throw it all away.
That’s part of the reason why I haven’t seen him. Classes are over and we’re having our study period. To avoid Ethan, I’ve been meeting with my group at their houses, or reserving a study room in the law school building.
It’s a little ironic, really. I haven’t seen him for two weeks, and now I wish I could see him every day. Ironic that after wanting nothing to do with him, I want nothing more than to give myself to him again.
But what if he doesn’t feel the same?
I had crazy, wild sex with him—doing things I’d never done with anyone else. I gave him a part of me without knowing what it meant. I don’t know what I want it to mean. All I know is that as I rummage around my room getting ready for another study session, I miss him.
Part of me hopes I’ll see him, even if it’s just in passing as I leave the building to meet up with my group. Even just to see his blue eyes looking back at me, sparkling with his all too knowing smile, would give me enough of a hit to get me through a few more days.
An addiction. That’s what Ethan Harris is, and I knew it from the beginning. I knew if I let him get too close, I’d be in trouble. Nothing good could’ve come from the way my body reacted to his nearness, to his voice, to the mere thought of him.
I knew it would be addictive and I let myself take the hit. He is my drug and I’m the fool that got hooked after just one try. Now I’m going through withdrawals and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Overzealous Alphas Page 4
