Perv (Filth #1) (11 page)

Deeper.

We arch into each other. I have to brace my hands against the mattress. I know the heaven my dick is experiencing. It's making my tailbone pulse. I've tasted it. I can inhale and smell that paradise.

I bite her a little harder because no person should have this kind of power, but I'm already stroking her again. Her thrust meets mine. If I bite her any deeper, I'll draw blood. I edge back and watch how her lips frame my dick. Her pussy is a snug fit. Pink and brown. Wet. So wet. If I hadn't jacked off while I ate her, this would be the end. My chest, my face, are hot and so goddamn tight from need I'm surprised I don't melt or break apart into pieces.

And no matter how I move my hips—fast or slow—she keeps up. That seals her fate for next time. I'm tying her up.

Until then we fuck each other. The rhythm is angry and slow. The only time she gives me a reprieve is when she comes. She likes to be kissed when she comes. Loves it more when I squeeze a tit.

At some point I can only brace my hands on the mattress, my face buried in her hair as I growl-grunt with every thrust. I'm not sure who is sweating more, but we're both dripping in her scent, in mine. I love it. I want to roll in it until there's no other smell. She's reduced me to an animal.

Or maybe I'm trying to fuck some sense back into her.
When
I finally let myself come, she won't care about revenge. When I come, I can walk away from her. This time for good. I can't exist as a cock, a mouth and her.

“
Nate...”

I can. Just for a little while longer.

“
Nate,” she sobs.

My body answers by surging harder, deeper into her. Her pussy clamps tight around my cock, and that snug fit becomes a vise. The Disney Princess inside me rises up to moan. Twice. Fuck. Robyn is dragging me with her over the edge.

There's no fighting the way my balls pull tight to my body. That pulse at the base of my spine is a hammer now. I shudder my way through the orgasm, my hips moving in jerks, because I've lost control now too.

I swallow her name though. I refuse to utter Robyn, like saying her name matters as my head and cock explode from the pleasure.

Her name cuts on its way down.

“
What is it?” Nate asks.

He's standing in front of his dresser and I'm by the bed, but the mirror reflects his gorgeous back. Yes, gorgeous. You know, in every movie ever, where the camera is above a couple making love, and the man's back is all deep slopes, framed by corded muscles?

His is better.

An hour, maybe more, has passed since we left his bed, and only now are we trying to get our shit together. He's slipped into gray sweats that hang low on his hips. Either he's half-mast or the sweats prove once again to be god's gift to horny humanity.

“
Nothing.” I readjust the towel. I'm wet from him and the shower.

One side of my brain is fully aware I need to leave before things between us get any more complicated. He's supposed to be a one-off. The guy I use to help me focus on my life, my needs, to be selfish for a little while. I've put all my feelings, wants, and needs on the backburner for close to a year. Two years if you want to be technical.

I'm following Samantha's rules.

Kind of.

I can until he asks about Loraine, pushing hard for an answer. Samantha didn't cover that in her simple rule. What am I supposed to do when the fuckboy cares? Then something dark sweeps up inside me, and I have to ask, have to know, do you remember her name?

See
.

This is all fucked up beyond all recognition—best known as FUBAR. I tear my gaze away from him and search for my dress. I have no clue where he tossed it before jumping me.

“
Check under the bed,” he says, as always, reading my mind.

I don't linger over that facet of him. I drop to my hands and knees. There's my dress tucked under his bed. Right along with socks, shoes, a half-eaten bag of chips, and for some reason, a Mason jar filled with clear liquid.

When I straighten, I look him dead in the eye, “What's in the Mason jar?”

He laughs, not an ounce of shame in the sound. “Moonshine.”

My stomach warms. His accent makes me think of lighting bugs, lazy summer days and the tart sweetness of honey. I don't want to like the way his timbre plays over my skin but, as always, it draws me in.

“
My father got me some for my 21
^st
birthday,” I find myself confessing. “Had to smuggle it across a few state lines in my mother's purse. She was against the idea.”

“
The school teacher? What a rebel. Is that who you get it from?”

I press my hand to the knot of the towel. “I shouldn't be surprised you know about my father.” I think about that, feeling disarmed. “Probably know about my mother too.”

“
Doctor.”

Yet he doesn't know Loraine. Or he does and it makes no difference to him.

It's him and me.

Just Nate and I.

No one else.

“
Of course you know,” I say as the realization comes to me. “You're friends with a guy like Duke.”

“
Guy like Duke?” His expression darkens. He's on the defense about his friend.

He doesn't have to tell me how he feels about the man. It's right there in his stiff posture and the tightening of his mouth.

He knows the depth of friendship.

Again, I have to say, it's just him and me.

“
I've heard stories about his paralegals hiding in hedges to take money shots of witnesses to discredit their testimony. If you had him hunt down my name, Duke will likely know why I have a scar on my left knee.”

His shoulders lower. “I noticed it.”

The reply is guarded, and I don't know where the hell my walls have gone because I'm spilling words again. “Long story short, I was a tomboy. I had a bike and a makeshift ramp to test out.”

He shakes his head. “I only got the facts about you. The details of your life, not so much.”

I fiddle with the towel. “Questions?”

He makes an
ummm
sound, crossing the room to his bed to sit on the edge. If I lift my hand I can cup his cheek, but that action is too soft for what we are. I'm holding my dress instead of tossing it on. I'm standing there a few feet in front of him, instead of throwing up the peace sign and heading for the door. The problem is I've slathered on his soap that smells like a forest of man, and I'm close enough to him to know the fragrance is better on his skin.

He leans on his elbows and holds my stare. I'm sure now he's half-mast. His lids have lowered and there's a flush to his neck and torso that makes me want to bite him.

Straddle his lap.

Suck his bottom lip.

Anything but talk and open myself to him.

“
Never mind,” I say. “You don't care.”

His head shake is slight.
“I'm curious, but the way you're looking at me...”

Does he need to finish the thought? I'm on death row, and he's my last meal. “Curious about what?”

“
Why are you so comfortable with my kink?”

This I can answer without feeling like an exposed wire but, just in case, I drop my dress next to him on the bed and straddle his lap. The towel gives, showing all my worldly goods below the waist. His gaze doesn't waver for two full seconds.

I splay my hands on his chest. His skin is still damp from our shared shower. No pun intended, but we kept it clean. “Do you really want to hear about my sex life with other men?”

Something hot and sharp flashes in his eyes. “Keep it vague.”

“
Sophomore year in college, my roommate was into BDSM. She took me to a club where I giggled half the night. Until the end. A man was being punished by his Domme. A woman. She took off one long glove and gave him an open palm. It was oddly beautiful and soothing. Arousing. She didn't touch his cock, and he still came at the last hit.”

He's silent as he takes in my words so I shift on his lap. Yeah. He's halfway there.

Nate murmurs, “You're attracted to the power exchange.”

“
Maybe, but I find it interesting what gets us off has very little to do with the actual act of sex.” I coast forward until my hands frame his head. I inhale. “The way a man smells, the way his gaze darkens, how his voice pitches low...” I slide my pussy lower over his gray sweats.

He's not half-mast now, but he only watches me. “Letting him spank you?”

“
Let him
is the important phrase here. So...not power but control.”

“
You topped from the bottom.” He shakes his head as though he’s disappointed, but there's a wicked light in his eyes. “Yeah. I can see you as a bad submissive.”

“
Which is why I'm not in the lifestyle.”

His chin tilts up and his eyes are laser sharp. “Who gave you trust issues?”

I bite his lip to shut him up. He laughs. I've made it obvious he's hit a soft spot, but he can't have access to my sore bits. I don't care how good he is in bed, he can't cup my pain and inspect it.

If I give him Lawrence's name...If I tell Nate how my first crossed the line during a scene, made
obey
an ugly word for me—I can't do that. I'm not still writhing in the pain of that mistrust but it's part of my DNA now.

Nathan can't have my blueprint.

I add tongue after the bite and his laugh dies.

Better.

He trails his hands beneath the towel to cup my ass and then I'm on the bed, on my back, the towel gone.

Much better.

He's a mouth and cock again, not Nate—the guy I'm finding it harder and harder to keep hating.

Robyn glances at me, flushes deeply, and looks forward again. “Don't even look at me in a sexy way.”

“
Then wear panties.”

I catch the smile before she sucks her teeth at me. “Learn some self-control.”

She tells me this as we wait for her Uber ride in my living room. The TV is playing one of those shows that is on a perpetual rerun. She's sideways on my lap, on her phone, doing her best to ignore my dick.

I'm kind of sprawled to the side, leaning on the couch arm so I can see the flat screen. It's the perfect position for reverse cowgirl, with a little adjusting, and that's why I dragged her into my lap while we wait. Call me what you want, but I'm an optimist.

She frowns at her phone and types in a message. “Now that I think about it, if I were to wear panties, you'd just steal them.”

I would, and I would sniff them if the thought of her tried to stray from my mind. I'm fucked when it comes to her. I know this, but I don't think she realizes her power yet. I plan to keep things between us that way until I can—come up with a plan? A cure? Or fuck, know where her head is at.

“
Where's the car?” I ask, trying for casual.

“
Stop trying to think about how fast you can fuck me.”

I wasn't. Entirely. I was just going to fingerbang her so if her mind tried to stray away from me and back to revenge...

My mind catches on that thought, and I have to question my own understanding of how we arrived to this moment where we're sitting in my living room with her on my lap.

I...don't know. All I can say for sure is that whenever I touch her, when I make her come, she hates me a little more. She also craves my touch, my tongue, my cock a little deeper.

Neither of us can walk away from this fucking train wreck.

Another plop of water hits my chest, stealing my attention for a moment. We've showered, and her hair is still dripping. I don't mind it. She smells like my soap and that Robyn factor.

After the shower, I had her spread eagle again on my bed because she was looking at me all pissed off.

“
Robyn,” I say softly, my accent smooth as butter, “you seem tense. I know what would help.”

“
We're not doing that again.” She purses her lips and looks back at me with an expression that makes my cock twitch. “Not today.”

“
Will you be wearing panties tomorrow? Because if you're not...”

“
I'm working tomorrow,” she says in a prim, clipped tone. “The only acceptable thing I'll take from you is my computer. What's your number so you have my information when it's ready?”

I give her my account number first, jokingly, and add something about my mama believes in hard-earned work. I plan to make her computer for free, because that's what Southern boys do sometimes. She continues to pay attention to her phone when mine beeps three times. I shift to check the email message.

It's from my bank. She's paid me two grand. I don't usually talk finances with women I'm fucking. I'm a bit old fashioned, and I don't like taking their money either. Even my first wasn't a Sugar Mama and I was a broke college kid on his way to war.

The problem is...I don't know why I'm bothered by the fact she thinks I need her help. “Why did you do that?” I manage to keep the anger out of the question. My voice is all honey.

“
Pay you for a computer that you're about to spend I don't even know how many man hours making for me?”

It's technically the truth. It's technically all bullshit. I can tell by the way she lifts her brows in challenge.
Dare to argue with me.

I answer the quiet challenge. “I was captain of my debate team,” I use that as a preamble. “We can go a few rounds if you like, but, simply, don't do that. Don't pay me.” I'm losing hold of my temper and my sharp tone shows it. “Don't pay my way ever. Fuck, don't pay yours if I'm there.”