by Cassie Wild
He shuddered, his fingers tightened in my hair. Slowly, he drew back, then surged forward again. “Do it again, Daria.”
I did, over and over.
Then he was gone from my mouth, pulling me up and spinning me around. I heard the hiss of a condom wrapper being opened, then he guided my hands upward to brace against the door. At the same time, he nudged me forward until I was bent over.
He slammed into me in the next breath, and I bounced up on my toes, trying to adjust to his abrupt intrusion.
His hands gripped my hips, held me steady for his possession, and he withdrew, slamming back into me with just as much force as before.
I loved it. He rode me hard, and I could feel my body, neglected these past two weeks, responding with greed and glee.
I tottered right at the edge of climax after just a few strokes, and he stopped, buried in me up to the hilt.
“You’re not coming yet,” he insisted.
Then he withdrew and let me go.
I had to lock my knees to keep from sagging to the ground.
I heard a familiar rasping sound, then Brooks was picking me up.
I clung to him as he carried me through the elegant suite, laying me on a table in front of a large window that ran from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall. Outside, the Manhattan landscape gleamed, jewel-bright.
The tall skyscrapers surrounding us stabbed into the air. Self-conscious, I crossed my arms in front of my chest after he settled me on my feet.
I could see our wavering reflections in the glass, and I swallowed as he cupped my shoulders in his hands.
“Nobody can see you,” he said. “I don’t share.”
I almost asked him if I’d have to share…share him.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
He turned me slowly to face him, and once I did, he tugged my hands away so that I was once more exposed to him.
He was still dressed, although his shirt was untucked and hanging over the waistband of his pants. At some point, he’d zipped them up—that must have been the rasping sound I heard.
“How come you’re always the one who gets to be dressed while I stand around naked?”
The question surprised me.
I darted a look up at him and found him smiling. “Because I’m the one in charge here. And as the one in charge…” His lids drooped, shielding his eyes. “I want you on the table. Lie back with your legs hanging over the side.”
I gave him a startled look.
“Do it.”
There was a thread of command in his voice, and I slowly backed up until I felt the table at my hips.
I couldn’t keep from shooting one last look at the window.
“I already told you that nobody can see you. Why does it bother you?”
I shook my head, not certain if I could vocalize it.
He dipped his head and said in a low, rough voice, “Nobody can see. But if they could…they’d see a beautiful woman getting fucked by a man who wants her more than his next breath. Do you want to get fucked, Daria?”
I whimpered and nodded. He cupped my cheek and traced my mouth with his tongue. Without thinking, I opened and sucked on him.
He shuddered.
I swirled my tongue around him. I could feel him looking at me now. I lifted my head and met his eyes. Then, slowly, deliberately, I lowered my head, mimicking the actions I’d use if I was sucking on his cock.
He growled and pulled back. “Get on the table,” he said, voice flat. “Now.”
I didn’t let myself look at the window again as I boosted myself up to sit on the table. But when I went to scoot back, he stopped me when my hips were just barely on the cool wooden surface.
“Right there,” he said. “That’s perfect.”
My arms trembled, the shakes spreading all through me until every part of me quivered.
He dragged one of the dining room chairs over and placed it in front of me. “Spread your thighs,” he ordered.
Blood rushed to my cheeks, but one look at him had me obeying.
He nudged the chair in closer until it was just between my splayed thighs. Then he sat down.
His eyes fixed on the open part of me.
“I’m going to eat your pussy, Daria. You’re going to beg and whimper, and when I’m ready, I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have in your life.”
My brain struggled to process the words. Nothing made sense in that moment. I was just a mess of violent want and need.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to my cunt.
I fell backward onto the table, arching up in shocked delight as he used his tongue to open me. Shoving my hands into his hair, I held him close as he licked, sucked, and nibbled.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered against me, a raw intensity in his words. “So wet for me.”
He traced his tongue in a small circle around my clitoris, and I shoved up, desperate for more, greedy for it.
But he didn’t give it to me. Not right away at least.
He continued those small, teasing circles around my clit, touching me nowhere else.
“Brooks. Please!”
That low, strangled noise couldn’t have come from me. Yet I knew it did.
He paused, looking up at me.
I lifted my hips imploringly.
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Am I not going fast enough for you, Daria?” he asked.
I stared at him blankly.
He nodded, and I looked down, saw that I had one hand on my belly, so low my fingers almost grazed the light golden-brown curls between my thighs.
“Do you want to take over and do it since I’m not going fast enough?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“But you look awful ready to take over, to touch that slick wet pussy.” His eyes took on a lambent expression, and he said gruffly, “Do it. Touch yourself while I watch.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because I want to watch you slip your fingers into your pussy.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and turned my face so that my right cheek pressed against the wooden table.
And I did it. I slid my hand lower and slid two fingers inside myself.
I cried out, the sensation almost too much after having Brooks inside me, then using his mouth on me.
“You feel how wet you are?”
I nodded as I withdrew, then pushed back inside.
“Keep on doing that, Daria.” He stood then.
I sensed the movement and opened my eyes to see him slowly stripping his shirt away.
Mesmerized, I watched as he flicked open each button, revealing the plain white undershirt beneath.
Soon, both shirts were gone, and he stood bare-chested in front of me. I whimpered as he palmed himself through his slacks, then dragged the zipper down, his cock still sheathed from being in me before.
Heat suffused every part of me, stretching my skin so tight it almost hurt.
He fisted his cock, and I forgot to breathe.
Helpless, I looked up at him as my chest constricted. He dragged his hand up, then down, up, down…
My breath hitched in my throat, and finally, I was able to expel, emptying my lungs.
He moved in closer and slipped the fingers of his free hand between my thighs. “I need it wet,” he said.
I didn’t know what he was talking about—I couldn’t get any wetter.
He pushed two fingers inside me, gathering up the slick wetness, and I watched, dazed as he brought that fluid back to his cock and smeared it all over.
He did it a second, then a third time before he started to masturbate again.
His eyes fell to my hand. It had gone motionless at his touch. “Come on, baby. You know what I want.”
Without thinking, I started to stroke myself again, rocking up against my hand. I began to press my thighs together, but his presence between my knees stopped me. “None of that,” Brooks said. “I want to watch you. I want to see that pretty pink pu
ssy, open and wet for me. Are you ready for me?”
“Yes.” I rocked my hips up again in anticipation. But he kept on doing what he was doing, fisting himself, dragging his closed hand up and down his cock.
I swallowed as a bead of fluid seeped from the head.
He smeared it around with his thumb, and I shuddered, my spine arching in a long bow as a sharp dagger of want struck me.
“Fuck.”
I opened my eyes as he said it. Yes. That was what I wanted. Fuck. As in him fucking me, right here, right now. As good as my fingers between my thighs felt, it was nothing compared to the pleasure he gave me.
He caught my hand, the one I’d been using to pleasure myself, and he licked my fingers, taking them into his mouth and sucking on them, rubbing them with his tongue.
Who knew fingers could be erogenous zones? I’d had no idea.
He let my hand go and caught my hips, flipping me to my belly so that I bent over the table.
He thrust himself inside me then, feeling even bigger, thicker than before.
My hands slid across the slick table, seeking purchase. Finally, I managed to grab the edge of the table in my right hand, and I clung to it as he rode me, impaling me on his cock over and over again.
He pushed me to the edge, then slowed his rhythm.
“Brooks!” I cried out, desperation in my words.
He barely moved now, filling me only shallowly, and I tightened around him, trying to draw him deeper. I went to push back on him, but his hands held me in place.
“You’re not begging yet,” he said.
“Please!” I shouted it, uncaring that somebody else could hear. “Please, please, please, just fuck me. I need to come.”
He trailed his fingers up the split that ran between the cheeks of my ass, then pressed his thumb against the entrance there. “Good girl,” he said.
Then he began to move again. I pushed back on him and gasped as I felt his thumb breach me, pushing past the tight ring of muscle just inside my bottom.
He leaned over me then, bracing his free hand on the table next to me, and I shuddered as he filled me, over and over. His cock swelled, stretching me, and I thought I just might die from the pleasure.
Maybe I did.
The climax hit me hard and fast, and darkness danced in front of my eyes, taking me under for a few brief seconds.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brooks
We showered, and I carried her to the big bed in the other room. This room, too, had a huge floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall window that revealed the city skyline in all its glory.
But there were thick, heavy shades made to block out the light, and I hit the button on the remote that would close them as she slid beneath the blankets and rolled onto her side.
I took the opposite side, leaving the light on so I could see her.
It wasn’t quite evening yet, but I was tired, and judging by the yawn that cracked her mouth open wide, I could tell she was too. Maybe she’d been running on stress, coffee, and adrenaline the past few weeks like I had.
I’d spent the night with Daria before, those few short days we’d had on my island and that first night at the hotel.
Then, like now, I felt content to just lay there with her, something that wasn’t normal for me. Usually, once it was done, I was ready for us to go our separate ways.
But I had no desire to send Daria away.
I wanted to keep her close, cuddle her up against me.
Her blue-gray eyes were soft, and I reached up to trace the line of her lips. Her mouth twitched. “That tickles,” she said.
I moved my hand to her hip and rubbed at her side with my thumb. She jumped under my touch, and I grinned at her. “You’re ticklish.”
She caught my wrist in her hand. “No tickling,” she told me.
I acquiesced, letting her guide my hand a little lower. The new position was fine with me. I could spread my fingers wide and cup the curve of her ass. “You’ve got a fantastic butt on you, you know?”
Daria flushed. “Thank you. Yours is pretty decent too.”
“That’s the best you can do?” I teased. “Pretty decent? I say you’ve got a fantastic ass, but mine is just…pretty decent?”
“I don’t think your ego needs any stroking,” she replied, using a haunting voice that made me smile.
“If you’re the one doing the stroking, trust me, I need it.”
“You like to make me blush,” she said, one golden brow arching up.
“Guilty.” I moved in and pressed my mouth to hers. “That’s just one of the things I enjoy doing with you.”
I snuggled her in closer. “Are you happy to be back in New York?”
She hesitated for so long, I wasn’t sure if she’d answer. Finally, she hitched up one shoulder in a shrug. “Mostly,” she said.
“I would have thought you’d be turning flips.” I rubbed my lips over her forehead. “You were determined to get back up here.”
She didn’t respond.
Easing away, I studied her face, but she averted her gaze. “Weren’t you eager to get back? You left without even saying goodbye.”
“Did that bother you?” she asked softly.
I shifted positions, rolling until I had her under me. Gazing down at the elegant lines of her face, I echoed, “Did it bother me? What do you think?”
“I…” She cleared her throat, lashes shielding her eyes. “I guess I didn’t think it would concern you that much. I’ve already caused you so much trouble.”
“You weren’t the one who caused it,” I reminded her, feeling my muscles grow tight.
“That’s not what everybody else thinks,” she muttered.
“Isabel doesn’t blame you,” I pointed out.
She gave a lopsided shrug once more. “No, but she’s getting shit from her dad about helping me. I think her brothers are mad at her too. I wouldn’t be surprised if she regretted helping me.”
“Isabel is a decent person. I doubt she regrets a thing.”
“Maybe.”
I rearranged our bodies once more and settled at her side. She rolled in closer, tucking her head into the crook of my shoulder. “I missed you,” she whispered.
I wrapped my arms around her. “I missed you too.”
It was a weird thing, me missing a woman. But I had. The absence of her had been an ache inside me, and she’d filled my thoughts. It hadn’t been because I was worried about what might happen to her, either. The Castellanos were no longer after her. I’d gotten Basilio’s word on that, although he’d made it clear he wasn’t happy with me—or Daria.
I didn’t give a flying fuck.
My father wasn’t on my case anymore, a fact that I appreciated, and Daria was safe. That was all that mattered.
Dad had even asked about her once or twice, watching me with a gleam of speculation in his eyes. I suspected I had an idea what thoughts might be going through his mind when he gave me that look, but I wasn’t about to call him on it.
I was still coming to grips with how much Daria meant to me.
I hadn’t had a serious relationship with a woman in…hell, high school had been the last time I’d had what might be considered a girlfriend. My father hadn’t known about it until just before we broke up, and neither had her father.
As it turned out, her father had been a cop, and when he found out I was one of those Downings, he’d had a long talk with her.
She broke up with me the next day.
Nothing I’d said or done had convinced her to give me a chance, not even when I’d told her I didn’t want to be like my family. It just proved she was a smart girl, though, because try as I might, I couldn’t cut free of the hold my family had on me.
Having feelings for a woman after so long of keeping everything casual was…unusual, to say the least.
At first, when Daria had left to return to New York, I’d told myself it was just as well. She was too innocent to get linked up with somebody like me. I’d seen the un
happiness in her eyes whenever talks about business or family had come up. The world I lived in was one she wanted nothing to do with.
I didn’t blame her.
More and more, I wished I’d tried harder to get away from the mess that was my family.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Daria said, her voice sleepy, her accent heavier.
“Sorry. I’ve just been…” I shook my head. “A lot on my mind.” Before she could ask, I said, “I met your instructor earlier today.”
She tensed.
I didn’t resist when she disentangled herself from my arms and rolled to sit up on the side of the bed. Her long, narrow back slumped as she dropped her head. “You met Burov?”
“Yes.” I pushed up onto my elbow as I watched her, puzzling over her odd reaction. “Is she a good teacher?”
She’d have to be, I thought. Otherwise, why would anybody put up with her? I already had a big, fat grudge against her from the way she’d talked about Daria, but I doubted my dislike of her was unusual.
“She’s…knowledgeable,” Daria said slowly, clearly choosing her words with tremendous care.
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
She turned to face me, shifting so that she sat with her legs drawn up. Her hair fell around her like a veil.
“I don’t need to like my teachers,” she told me, her words coming out slowly. “But if you had asked a month ago, I would have told you she was a very good teacher.”
“What changed?”
She licked her lips, uncertainty on her face. The look in her eyes told me she wanted to explain, but I didn’t know if she would.
Reaching out, I closed my hand around her ankle.
“You can talk to me, Daria.”
She swallowed and nodded, her gaze drifting away.
“When I woke up in that club…” Her words trailed off, and she was quiet a few moments before she spoke again. “They told me I had a choice. I could dance…” I could tell she was struggling to get the next words out. I just waited until she was ready. “Or I could prostitute myself. I had to choose one or the other because they expected me to pay off the debt. If I didn’t do one or the other, they’d hold me down for the customers who liked to rape women.”
