Didn't I Warn You

by Amber Bardan

  He grabbed my chin, turning me to look at him.

  I saw it in his eyes—no going back.

  He jerked off his belt and yanked it free of the loops, tossing it to the floor, and then he undid the top button of his pants. I watched, fascinated, as he slid the zipper, exposing the taut, smooth skin on his abdomen.

  Commando.

  I should have known.

  Jet-black hair coated his pelvis in a downward trail. He shoved open his pants and his cock sprang free. Every part of my attention focused on that magnificent organ nestled in a crown of midnight curls. His cock rose, a sweeping arc, daring me to touch it.

  I lunged, mouth open—possessed.

  Haithem grabbed the back of my hair, holding me still. He took his huge cock in his hand, only a breath from my face. The scent of him teased my nostrils, musky and male and enthralling.

  My mouth watered.

  I wanted him in me, in my mouth, in my pussy, anywhere he deigned to put it.

  He tugged my hair, forcing my neck to crane, and brought his cock to my lips. I opened my mouth wide, struggling toward it.

  “Fuck,” he whispered.

  Haithem tapped his cock on my lips. “Show me that sexy pink tongue.”

  I stuck out my tongue as far as it could go. He stroked the head of his penis over my tongue and into my mouth before snatching it away. I thrust my chin forward, trying to get him back.

  “You want it, don’t you?” He tightened his grip on my hair. “You want my cock in your sweet little mouth.”

  He let me have it, pushing himself past my lips. I extended my jaw, straining to accept his girth, and took all he gave me.

  He wasn’t kind—he thrust deep, hard, until he hit my throat.

  Coughs racked my chest, the muscles of my throat spasming around him. But I didn’t spit him out—didn’t push him away. I succumbed to him, drowning in the taste, the smell, the power of him.

  He pulled out, and the fist in my hair loosened, held me gently. He surged back into my mouth. I sucked with my tongue, my cheeks, my throat, drinking in his salty flavor. He pushed past my gag reflex, pulled out and made me gasp for air.

  If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was callous. But I did know him, knew why he did this to me. He wanted to take me, overwhelm me, take me to within an inch of what I could stand—because now he knew the real me, too.

  His other hand came to cradle my skull, to hold me in place as he fucked my mouth. I did my best to suck, to use my tongue and lips, but mostly I just held on, just let myself get lost in the feel of him, the need overwhelming us.

  He stiffened under my hands, between my lips.

  I curled my hands into the fabric on his thighs and squeezed everything I could around him. He surged deep, made me splutter, made my eyes water and my lungs burn.

  His fingers curled against my scalp. He shook and spurted salty heat into the back of my mouth. I had no choice but to swallow—not that I’d have done differently. I’d take any part of him he’d give. I drank him, closed my lips over his length then sucked gently on his tip. I ran my tongue over his seam, licked over his ridges, curled my fingers over his base. I could do this forever. I would do this forever.

  I’d been pumped full of energy. Had inches added to my height, decades to my life. I was Superwoman. I was his angel—and I was a fucking queen.

  I made him shake.

  I made him come.

  I made him lose control.

  He softened in my hands, but I stroked my cheek against him. He massaged my scalp, then ran his touch down my jaw and tipped back my head. I gazed at him, knew my eyelids were heavy, my lips swollen. I gazed up at a man I’d never seen before.

  A man whose heart beat only for me.

  He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple moved under all that dark stubble.

  “What is happening to me?” he said, and stroked the sides of my face.

  I’d begged to be taken, but it looked as though I was the one who had just taken him.

  NINETEEN

  HE CARRIED ME into the bedroom and set me down on the floor beside the bed. Then he moved to the wardrobe. I couldn’t think straight. I’d expected to be placed on the bed and ravaged instantly. He emerged with a thick blanket and spread it over the bed.

  “What’s that for?”

  He turned to me, linked his thumbs under the straps of my nightgown and pushed them over my shoulders. The fabric caught on my breasts.

  “It’s for the mess I’m going to make out of you.”

  My body heated as though I’d been tossed next to a bonfire.

  Oh, merciful fuck.

  He pushed the satin over my breasts, then took them in his hands.

  “What mess?”

  He squeezed my nipples. I shivered, chills flowing from my chest into my nether regions.

  “Knowing how tight your little pussy is, I’m going to have to take extra special care of you.” He shoved the scrap of my panties over my hips, scooped me up and laid me on the blanket. “And that, Angel, is going to get messy.”

  He ran his gaze over me, then walked to the bedside table.

  I leaned up on my elbows and tracked his movements. Oh lord, this should not be happening straight after his incredible blow job. He was way too together, his actions too methodical, too thought out.

  He pulled out the “special bag.”

  My heart kicked up three notches.

  I swallowed and fell back against the blanket. If he tried to use the giant vibrator on me, I’d die. I mean, I’d let him do it—at that point, I was up for anything—but I might die.

  I stared at the ceiling; it really was well crafted.

  The bedside table door shut, and my gaze snapped to him. He set a purple bottle and a condom on the bed.

  Haithem looked at me, his eyes narrowed, and then he glanced back at the side table. A grin stretched his face, and he climbed over me. “And you accuse me of bluffing.”

  Bloody mind reader.

  I grabbed his shirt collar and tugged him down, bringing my face to his. He brushed his lips over mine, then pulled back and removed his shirt, then his pants. I ran my hands over his bare chest. I wanted that chest against me. Wanted to slide against him like a snake—drag my skin against his skin, feel our bodies touch from head to toe.

  He finally kissed me properly.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He swept his tongue into my mouth, and opened his lips over mine. My back arched, and the hair on his chest brushed my nipples. His heat seeped into me, but I was already hot—so hot. Our mouths moved together, but I couldn’t keep up. He drank me, sucked out the sane, freethinking part of me.

  He made a fist in my hair, tugged back my head, and moved his mouth to my jaw—kissed the line from my chin to my ear. His lips closed over the lobe. My hips jerked. A thread of pleasure streaked from my earlobe to my nipples. He sucked, and my consciousness folded, focused on nothing more than how searing, wet and incredible his mouth was.

  He moved down, scraped his stubble over the side of my neck and nipped me. His teeth pinched, sent a static bolt ringing through me. I buried my hands in his hair. It slid between my fingers.

  My hands in his hair, his in mine.

  He sucked hard over my pulse. My heart must’ve pounded against his tongue. His other hand moved down my side and gripped my thigh, hoisted my leg. He moved to my breast and tongued my nipple.

  My breath hitched.

  Pleasure rang between my legs. He released my hair and teased the hard, beaded peak of my breast. My pelvis arched off the mattress. I dragged my nails down the back of his scalp. He sat up, and my hands fell from him.

  My wet nipple drew tighter, stiffer, in the cool air. He flicked it with his thumb, then reached fo
r the purple bottle. He popped off the lid and turned the container over my stomach. Liquid hit me, made me gasp, like ice on sunbaked skin. It pooled in my belly button, cascaded down my sides.

  He held the bottle higher, squeezed it in his fist and squirted more across my breasts. The sticky wetness smothered my chest and dribbled down to my armpits.

  I twitched, my system flashing from burning to chill and back again. He held my thighs open, and a jet of fluid lashed between my legs. I gave a shuddering gasp. He saturated my mound, covered me so completely it trickled down my ass. I clenched my hands in the blanket under me.

  He tossed the bottle aside and grabbed my hips, dragged me closer, brought my ass up hard against his thighs. His cock hovered above my open knees. So close, all he’d have to do is lean down, and he could put himself inside me.

  I opened my legs wider, exposing myself to him. He touched me. Not where I wanted, but placed his hands flat on my abdomen and stroked his palms across my skin, over my belly, between my breasts, over my chest, up my neck. He stroked his thumbs down the center of my throat. I dropped my head back and absorbed the soft, commanding pressure. He smoothed over my shoulders, then rolled his palms around the outsides of my breasts, pushed his hands over the dip of my hips, stroked down to my sex.

  He brushed my folds, his fingers scraping over my clit.

  My thighs jerked.

  His touch glided—there then gone, up then down.

  Whatever he’d put on me made me tingle—made my skin prickle and shiver—sent me from sensitive to raw. He stroked over my ass, tilted up my hips and rubbed back up over my pussy. Tension coiled in my core, and my toes stretched. He ran his hands over my stomach, then caressed my breasts. My head fell back, and I let him touch me. Let myself feel every exquisite movement.

  I shut my eyes.

  Over and over, around and around, my entire body unraveled under his caress. I arched and bowed, and breathed into his touch. My muscles loosened, and my heart beat hard but steady. He ran a finger down my seam. Somehow, I managed to get wetter. He pushed the slippery finger inside me. It glided in, filling and stretching.

  Wicked heat rolled in my pussy.

  He pressed up, and pleasure flared in my womb. I moaned, my eyes closing again. He stroked inside me, slowly then faster. Tension coiled, unlike anything before, bone deep. His pace increased, his palm slammed against my clitoris. My hips rocked. He splayed his free hand on my mound and pushed down. I couldn’t breathe out, only in, one small breath packed on top of another.

  His finger pulsed against some hypersensitive place inside me, and all I could do was let my muscles clench tighter and tighter from my core to my limbs.

  Slap, slap, slap.

  His palm connected with my flesh. Heat rolled through me in ripples, and all my breath came rushing out in one long moan. Ecstasy burned over me, and I contracted, every cell bursting. Haithem grabbed my hips, holding me down as my body tried to roll. My knees flew up to my chest, he still pressed between my legs.

  I rocked, and twitched, and gasped.

  The bliss carried on, one bone-shattering wave crashing and another rising to take its place. Sounds released themselves from my tongue. My thighs slid together, slick and so slippery I couldn’t know if it was the stuff he’d used or something from me.

  I collapsed, still shuddering but without the energy to squirm.

  He had made a mess of me.

  I was a mess.

  He hovered over me, brushed damp hair out of my eyes. Salty moisture trickled from my upper lip and into my mouth. I looked up at him. His face defined what satisfaction looks like. I tried to master that breathing in and out thing, but he still touched my sex.

  He pushed another finger inside me. Pain cut through the haze, and I made a noise then grasped his wrist.

  Haithem stilled. “Ouch?”

  Had I said that out loud?

  “It shouldn’t...” He looked down my body, and his expression shifted, satisfaction morphing into something much more horrified.

  He pulled my thighs apart, peered between my legs. I squeezed my knees together, but nothing could be more fruitless than trying to stop Haithem. He spread my folds and touched me gently.

  His forehead wrinkled.

  I hadn’t thought there was a pulse rate faster than the one that had been rushing under my skin, yet apparently there was.

  He glanced up, then rose over me. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  His lips shook.

  My heart shook.

  “No.”

  “I think there is.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything.” My tongue darted out, tasted my own sweat.

  His chin dropped. “It. Means. Something. To. Me.”

  Each word hit me like a little punch in the ribs.

  It did?

  I don’t think I’d ever considered that. At first, I hadn’t told him because I didn’t want my inexperience to put him off, and then I’d stayed quiet because I didn’t want him going easy on me. I wanted to know what it was really like to be with him.

  His emotions, that he’d care, that it’d mean something to him—that never crossed my mind.

  “How is this possible?” He leaned back, rubbed the top of his hand under his chin. “The things you’ve said...”

  I lunged forward, cracked my palm against his cheek. The sound rang louder than it should’ve, considering how little muscle I’d put into it.

  But it worked, and my Haithem rose back to the surface, furious gaze locked on mine.

  “Don’t you dare go all honorable on me now. I didn’t choose you because I thought you’d make a good boyfriend.” I touched the red marks already fading from his face. “I chose you because I knew you’d make it incredible...”

  His features evened, and he rested over me on his forearm.

  “I want to feel all the things, Haithem.” I ran my fingers into the luxury of his hair. “Please let’s not think.” I leaned up, touched my nose to his. “Let’s just feel.”

  His face softened. It showed me beyond a doubt, for the first time, that the person behind all his many shields was real and raw and tangible.

  He kissed me. Rested the full weight of his body on me, held one side of my face with fingers behind my ear.

  A kiss like falling and drowning and flying, all at once.

  He didn’t crush me, although his size should have been too heavy. It felt right, his weight compressing my ribs against my heart. His other hand moved between my legs, an area still so slick and wet and tender. I opened to him, let my knees fall wider. He pressed two fingers into me. I cried out into his mouth.

  It stung—in the same satisfying way as overscratching a bite stung. A bit good, a bit bad, a bit perfect. His hand moved faster, and suddenly my system glided right back to where it’d been before. Curling and needing, hot and out of control.

  My pelvis rocked, gearing toward another explosion.

  “Not yet,” he whispered against my lips.

  He sat up between my legs. I clutched at him, trying to keep my hands on him. My fingers trailed down his hard belly, and I grasped his cock. Let its rigid weight fill my hand. His fingers moved again, once, twice, then withdrew. I squeezed his hips with my knees and tried to guide his hand back to my pussy.

  He reached over and picked up the condom.

  I couldn’t stay still. Could only writhe and wiggle as he unwound my fingers from his cock and covered it with the rubber.

  He took himself in hand and pressed his cock against me, rubbed up and down over my folds. Maybe you’re not supposed to look, but I couldn’t help myself, I had to see, had to lean up on my elbows and watch that magnificent thing stroke me.

  He flicked the ridge of his crown over my clit.

  Flick,
flick, flick.

  My stomach muscles squeezed, and I pulled my knees higher. He dipped down and pressed the head against my entrance. My eyes strained wider; I couldn’t look away, had to watch this happen. He pulsed against me, pressed in slightly, a hint of fullness, and then he pulled away. I clutched his waist, tried to draw him in. His thumb moved to my nub and stroked. Pleasure bubbled over. I dropped back onto my elbows, body twitching toward implosion. He surged inside, sent something sharp and brutal cutting through the joy.

  I fell flat against the blanket.

  My chin lifted to the ceiling, and my limbs braced. His hand came down next to my ear, and his warmth hovered over me, but all I could focus on was the shifting, searing pressure inside me.

  Fingers wrapped around my throat, broke through my prism of tension.

  “Here, Angelina, come back here.”

  I lowered my jaw and looked at him.

  He stared down at me and moved, pushed in deeper, stretched me fuller, strained the fibers of my walls.

  My lungs filled with air, and my head spun.

  His hold on my throat shifted.

  “Here,” he whispered.

  My eyes refocused, and I breathed out and met his gaze. He leaned back just enough to touch me again, to stroke that magic little place of mine. Sensations packed one upon another, filling me with red-hot need. A need for more. A need for friction. A need that would fling me out of my body if it weren’t for his hand on my neck. I placed both my hands over his and held him there, held the anchor of his fingers to my throat. His expression shifted, his nostrils flared, and he pulled out and then drove back in.

  Pleasure flared in my pelvis. My body adjusted, complied, accepted. He fucked me, drove in and in and into me. Kept me captive and present in my body with his touch and his gaze. My muscles tightened, and I held on to his wrist with both hands as I convulsed, and shook, and screamed.