The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2)

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  “I can’t wait to taste you,” he said. “To fuck you.”

  She whined, need coiling in her belly. Everything that had held her back from wanting this disappeared. Reality was days and miles away.

  In this quiet room, there was only him. Only this.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Not yet.”

  He pressed the heel of his palm along her pubic bone, then swept it up her body and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She gasped, a smile blooming as she gave in to the sensation, her limbs going liquid.

  “First, you owe me.”

  The abrupt way he let her go was almost as rough as the growl in his voice. He stared her down, his own breathing labored as he whipped his belt to the side and yanked his jeans open.

  “I owe you?”

  Dean nodded. “For the wedding.”

  He grabbed the hem of her sweater and rucked it up over her head. She barely had time to orient herself before he was kissing her again, hands cupping her breasts, fingers strumming her nipples through her bra. He gave them a light pinch she could feel in her clit. Fuck, he really did know her triggers. Then he was grasping her wrists again, drawing them to his boxers and molding her hands over the stiff shape of his cock.

  “Make me come, Jamie.”

  She bit her lip as she outlined him through the cotton. He was as big as she remembered, more thick than long, girth she’d barely been able to wrap her fingers all the way around. She glided her palm over the wet spot where the fabric pressed against his crown. Wanting to see the bare skin of his chest and finally get a glimpse of his ink up close, she tugged at the bottom of his shirt. Dean wrenched it over his torso and threw it to the side.

  He was a piece of artwork in the flesh.

  Jamie ran her hand over the length of his tribal sleeve, then down his side to where birds in flight spanned his rib cage. A compass rose was on his other shoulder, oddly missing their directional markings. Black stars were peppered like shrapnel over his heart.

  When she looked up again, the playboy’s smirk was gone. Anticipation radiated from every locked limb, eyes blazing as he watched her intently.

  He liked watching her. Funny that she’d never noticed that before. That as much as she loved having his gaze focused on her, there was something he liked about it too. Something he craved. Needed.

  She slid down to her knees.

  “Fuck, yes,” he said, bracing himself against the wall.

  Jamie dipped her fingers past his waistband, pushing his boxers and jeans down to his ankles. It felt like Christmas when she found the prize waiting for her—hard, glistening at the tip, and all hers. She skated her hands up his legs, caressing his skin and the downy blond hair on his belly and thighs. She’d been waiting for this too long to rush it, but the way his cock jutted toward her suggested Dean wasn’t interested in being teased.

  She gripped the base with one hand and waited one last delicious second, looking up at the hunger in his eyes before closing hers and sucking the head into her mouth.

  He groaned. Jamie smiled before taking him deeper, one long plunge that brought her lips to her fist.

  “Jesus, Jamie,” he whispered. “Goddamn.”

  She did it again, enjoying the heavy feel of him in her mouth and the sound of his panted breaths, then dipped her head to lick slowly up the underside of his shaft. A flick over the head. Hand lowering to cup and stroke his balls. A sharp hiss drew her gaze upward. Dean’s eyes were fixed on her. His parted lips spoke volumes.

  “Like that?” she asked.

  He responded with a quick, silent nod. Jamie dragged her tongue along her palm and slicked it over him, pumping his rigid flesh until he moaned and his eyes fell shut.

  God, it was such a rush. Such a fucking high to see him like that, weak with pleasure.

  She went back to work, and it wasn’t long until his hips were moving in time with her hand and mouth. A tremor ran through his legs as if he were holding back, wanting to plunge deeper but not letting himself.

  She didn’t want him polite. She wanted him unhinged. Frantic.

  She drew back long enough to murmur, “Take what you want, Dean.”

  One whispered curse was all the warning she had before he dug his hands into her curls, fingers tightening into fists against her scalp. He held her in place as he set the pace, fucking her mouth. Jamie moaned in response around him, loving the feeling of being so brutally, unapologetically used.

  “You like this,” he choked out. “Show me how much.”

  She moaned again, and his next grunt broke on a shudder. His eyes drifted shut before snapping open again, like he was battling the urge to close them so he could keep watching.

  He lost the fight.

  His eyes slammed shut as he let out a hoarse groan, and Jamie welcomed the tang of his release. On her knees and immobile, she’d never felt more powerful, more wanted. She drew his orgasm out with deeper pulls of her lips and tongue, easing off when his grip in her hair loosened and his breath rushed out, gasping, spent.

  She licked her lips and grinned up at him. “Have I sufficiently repaid you now?”

  Dean peeled his eyes open, still short of breath. “For the moment.”

  He drew her up by her elbows and wrapped his arms around her. Surprisingly sweet kisses lingered and grew deeper as he palmed her waist, his thumbs skimming over her belly. Jamie squirmed.

  “Something you want?” he asked between kisses.

  “You might be satisfied, big boy, but I’m going nuts over here.”

  Dean’s smile spread beneath their kiss, and then he was quietly unbuttoning her jeans, patient as he pulled the zipper down.

  Jamie went up on her tiptoes when he dragged the fabric down her legs, stepping out of them as he kicked off his boots and shoved their clothes to the side. He was completely naked while she was still in her bra and panties, but he didn’t seem in any way the vulnerable one, so big and burly and driving her crazy with his tongue. She lowered her hands to score his backside with her nails. He answered by making a leash out of her hair and snapping her head backward.

  Jamie grunted, tiny shivers coursing through her.

  “What is it about this?” he asked. “Why do you like it so much?”

  She swayed slightly, sinking into the decadent pinch. “I don’t know. Feels good.”

  “Hmmm.” He bent his head to her breast and nipped at her nipple through the satin. “I think it’s more than that.”

  “You’re the Casanova,” she replied. “You tell me.”

  He pressed himself fully against her, holding her between his body and the wall.

  “I think it’s not about having your hair pulled or your arms trapped. You don’t want to just come. You want to be completely lost to the moment. A slave to it.”

  His free hand snuck beneath the waistline of her panties, glancing over her clit.

  “You want to shut your mind off. To have someone else take charge. To be able to stop thinking and feel, and this—” He fisted tighter. “—helps get you there.”

  Jamie tried to absorb his words through the hazy fog of pleasure he’d put her in. Was that why it was always so good with him, why she felt so free when he took the reins? For years she’d craved being lost to it again, to be overcome by the rush. To feel wild, dangerous, and let loose that untamed part of her everyone else saw as the reason for her failure.

  “I guess sometimes it’s nice to be able to completely let go.”

  His brows shifted down low, but he didn’t say anything. Stripping away the last of her clothes, Dean walked her to the bed. He kissed her again and pressed her down onto it, fingers weaving through hers, clasping their hands together and drawing them once more over her head.

  “Hands on the headboard,” he ordered softly. “Around the slats.”

  She did as she w
as told, hooking them onto the wooden poles. Dean stepped away, returning a moment later with a condom, and his belt.

  Her eyes widened.

  “To keep you still and help you let go.” Dean knelt beside her and waited for her answer. “Yes?”

  She paused, glancing at the belt, then back at him. She’d felt so liberated when it was Dean’s hands holding her down. Nothing would help her let go as much as being fully restrained.

  She wanted this. Fuck yes, she wanted this.

  Jamie offered him her hands. “Yes.”

  He placed the condom on the nightstand, then carefully wrapped the belt around her wrists and slid the leather through the buckle. She closed her eyes when he brought her bound hands back above her head, feeling the pull as he looped the belt through the rungs, tugging once to remove any slack.

  The backs of his knuckles stroked over her cheek. Jamie opened her eyes.

  “You can pull free pretty easy if you get scared,” he said.

  It felt snug enough. It was all the illusion she needed. “I trust you.”

  Something in his expression softened, and he climbed on top of her again, pressing kisses downward until he reached her belly. He grinned when he nipped at her there, eyes glittering with mischief. For a second, Jamie couldn’t help wondering how many other girls he’d looked at like that. If that was the look that had made him a legend.

  The thought vanished when he bent down and lapped at her clit.

  Her hands lifted involuntarily, but the belt held her in place. She sank into the feeling, legs spreading wider, body twisting when he did something amazing with his tongue and tested how slick she was with the plunge of a single finger.

  It was too much, too fast. She’d never come so quickly before, but he was a magician with his mouth. Gentle suction and flicks of his tongue combined with deep strokes over her G-spot drew her so swiftly to orgasm she barely had time to curse in surprise. Her back arched, the buckle jangling as she thrashed, body rolling with the force of all that pleasure. Dean helped her through it, his touch never ceasing until she collapsed against the blanket.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “You are fucking beautiful.”

  She smiled meekly, and he undid the belt. Her arms felt wobbly when he released her, but he was hard again and she wanted to touch. She wrapped her fingers around him, one slow pump before she squeezed. His eyelids drooped and he groaned.

  “Condom?” she asked.

  He panted through a smile. “You ready for more already?”

  “I’ve been ready for six years.”

  Dean stared at her until panic flashed in her gut. The worry that she’d gone too far, said too much, was an anvil on her chest, but then he reached for the foil wrapper on the nightstand. Jamie swore his hands were shaking when he ripped it open and sheathed himself.

  Kneeling between her open thighs, Dean paused as his cock nudged her pussy, as if he were about to say something. A reminder that this was sex, nothing more. She grabbed his hips and pulled, cutting him off, not wanting to ruin the moment with a good, hard dose of reality.

  They both moaned when he sank inside her.

  “Fuck,” he ground out. “Jamie, fuck.”

  He let her acclimate to the exquisite burn, easy moves back and forth until one slick thrust made him go taut with tension, a switch flipped inside him. He lifted one of her knees, drew back to change the angle and slid home so deep that Jamie’s hand slapped against the bed.

  “Dean. God. Yes.”

  The words came out like she was choking. It wasn’t just because of his size or skill, but because it was him, stretching her. Filling her. He surged again, and she reached for him with her other hand, wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck.

  “Jamie.” Her name was nothing more than a grunt. “God, you feel so good.”

  He wrapped her legs around him and started a rhythm, steadying himself with one arm braced against the mattress, the other fisting the blanket like it was already more than he could take. Jamie undulated beneath him, shocked by the rush of sensation. There was no way she could be about to come again, but it was there, pooling in her belly. Dean sped up, movements growing jerky. Jamie felt him tremble.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop.”

  His eyes pressed tightly shut in a grimace of pleasure, he reached blindly for her hand and brought it between their slippery bodies. The first stroke of her fingertip over her clit found her sensitive and ready, and Dean dropped his forehead to meet hers, clutching the sheets with both hands.

  “Holy shit,” he gasped. “Jamie…I’m not, fuck.”

  His restraint gave way, and something about it pushed her over the edge too. Dean leaned in, silencing her cries of pleasure with a kiss. His arms locked with one last hard shiver, and he fell against her, shuddering breaths hot against her neck until they both finally calmed.

  He disposed of the condom, then rolled onto his back beside her. Jamie curled against his chest and closed her eyes. His fingers roamed through her hair, easy now, tender, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Right before sleep claimed her, she had the fleeting thought that it might not be so easy to deal with this weekend ending after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Dean woke up Saturday morning to find Jamie sleeping soundly next to him. It didn’t take long to remember pulling her to him the night before, when they’d collapsed in a sweaty heap after ordering room service, cracking up over some stupid TV show and having another hot-as-hell fuck session.

  It didn’t take long for his cock to realize they were both still bare-ass naked, either.

  He ignored it, turning instead to look at her.

  Early morning sunlight stole in through a crack in the curtains, bathing her in its rays. Her skin seemed even darker against the contrast of the rumpled white sheets. Her body was insane, from her toned arms to the two matching dimples at the small of her back, the perfectly flat expanse of her stomach and the delicate navel he hadn’t been able to resist dipping his tongue into.

  He’d felt like a super hero when he went down on her, practically drunk off the sounds of her pleasure. Last night blew him away, every second of it a dream come true. He’d imagined the hair-pulling thing was rooted in some kind of kinky vibe with her, a question that was answered when she talked about letting go. Dean wasn’t one hundred percent on what that was all about, but he knew how to push her buttons, and bringing out the belt took it to the extreme.

  God, her eyes. The way they’d widened, her cheeks coloring with lust.

  Jamie had always seemed like someone who might have the nerve, the “why the fuck not” kind of daring that would let her go there with him, but he’d never imagined it would be that fucking good. He’d been so turned on by the whole thing he’d come after two and a half minutes, like a goddamn teenager.

  And she’d been right there with him.

  Dean felt himself harden, his dick too excited to be within easy distance of its number one fantasy. He couldn’t believe they were actually doing this, and he wanted to ravage her as much as he wanted to savor her. To worship every inch, the way he’d dreamed about for so long.

  She’d wanted it for six years too.

  It shocked him, when she said that. He’d tried to find the words, some way to acknowledge he’d felt the same way. But it had been a risky moment, one that reminded him how much was at stake here, and Jamie had been smart to push past it.

  They weren’t here to have feelings. They were here to fuck, plain and simple.

  Well, he could give her that. He could fuck her until she couldn’t see straight. And as for him, he could let himself exist in this bubble of sunlight and cotton and her soft breathing a bit longer. They were out of town. Road trip rules applied. He could enjoy being like this with her for a little while.

  Dean walked his
fingers down the ladder of her ribs and teased over the hollow by her hip. Part of him wanted to see if he could get her hot enough to put on a show for him. He’d missed watching her touch herself last night because he was too busy trying to hold off. Looking at that wouldn’t have given him a shot in hell of lasting.

  Later. Right now, he wanted to rock her world again.

  Her breathing pattern shifted when his thumb found her cleft. Slowly coming out of sleep, she rolled onto her back. He parted her soft flesh with a teasing caress, opening her up for him.

  She whispered his name. It wasn’t a word. It was a plea.

  He stroked with firm, even circles, reveling in the unabashed noises of pleasure he drew from her, in the music of Jamie unraveled. It was like a drug, knowing he could get her there, and he drank in her startled gasps until her nails were digging into his arms and she was falling apart beneath him.

  “Dean. Jesus Christ.”

  An aftershock went through her. She brought a hand up to cover her face, but he pulled it away. A pink flush covered her cheeks. Her smile was mixed with a sudden shyness, curls a mess, eyes downcast. It was that deviant angel look again—half innocence, half pure sin, the perfect mix of sexpot and girl next door.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No. I’m dead. You’ve killed me.”

  “Death by orgasm. I could think of worse.”

  She giggled and pressed her face into his chest. Dean chuckled, a stupid wide grin on his face. It was weird, smiling this much. Like his mouth had forgotten how. He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers and pulled the strand until it became a taut line, then watched it spring into a spiral again.

  “I love that your hair does that.”

  Jamie groaned. “I hate my hair. It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s adorable.” He tugged lightly until she looked up at him. “And so are you.”

  It was probably more than he should’ve said, but it was true.

  She grinned and stretched. He tracked his gaze down her body. He’d gone down to half-mast, but it wouldn’t take much to fix that.

  “What time is it?” She looked toward the clock on the nightstand and bolted upright. “Eight o’clock? I slept until eight o’clock?”