Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2 (13 page)

He circled my clit a few more times, and now my hips were rolling against his touch, and I was aching all over—and then he slid that finger inside me, curled it and touched me somewhere deep and high inside and I just—shit, I just lost it completely, sank back against the chair, fumbled with one hand for the lever on the side of the bucket seat and lowered the back until I was lying down, crying out loud, wordless breathless whimpers as he rubbed that magic spot inside me. And then he withdrew that finger, tapped it against my clit, once, twice, quick sharp taps, and I—already breathless—couldn’t even manage a whimper. But oh, he wasn’t done, no ma’am. He slid his finger back inside me, but this time it was…
more
. Stretching me wider; god, two fingers? Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh god. Two fingers, sliding in and out of my channel, and each time he worked those thick strong fingers into me, he bumped my clit with his fingers and then it happened… Lightning. Fireworks. Heat blasting through me, making me twitch, making me jerk and jolt and writhe.

And
scream
.

God, I was screaming.
 

He was licking my nipples and suckling them and biting them, and then gently and reverently kissing my areolae and the upper slopes and the undersides…

He was…god, everything inside me curled up and tightened and tensed.
 

He was making love to my breasts with his mouth.
 

And it was enough to make my eyes prick. To make my gut churn. To make my heart palpitate and my chest tighten.
 

Because with his hands, his mouth, his eyes raking over me and meeting my eyes as he passed from one breast to another—he made me feel beautiful.

Like a desirable
woman
.
 

I was coming apart and he was suckling my left nipple into his mouth—the more sensitive one—and then he added a
third
finger to the sliding driving penetrating rhythm, and my hips were driving, and I was fighting to breathe, trying to scream, and holding at bay the tears he’d promise I’d shed.

Tears that meant so much.
 

Joy, that I wasn’t broken.

Relief, because three years worth of repressed sexual frustration were finally coming to an end, and he was about to break it open, burst it apart, shred it all to pieces.

And tears of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, because nothing in my life had ever felt this good. Nothing, not ever.
 

My eyes were squeezed shut, my hips were writhing and rolling and pistoning uncontrollably, unashamedly riding his fingers.

When it began to pass through me and wash over me, I clenched my jaw tight and my eyes tighter and screamed past my teeth and my body went taut as a piano wire, feet pressed against the floor boards and shoulders and neck against the seat back, the rest of my body arched up and suspended, hips flexing involuntarily as everything inside of me burst open, detonated.
 

But he wouldn’t let me just ride it out. Oh no. He had to
talk.
“Open your eyes, Lola.”

My eyes flicked open. And god, his eyes were so fucking blue, so fierce and piercing.
 

“Don’t you fucking dare take your eyes off me.” He kept fingering me as the orgasm continued to expand, but now his attention was solely on me. “Look at me, Lola.”

“I’m—oh god, oh god, oh
god
!” The last
god
was sobbed, because I couldn’t help it anymore. It felt so good, so perfect, as if the universe was aligning to make me feel this bliss for the first time in my life. “I’m looking at you—oh, oh,
ohhhhhh
fuck—I’m looking at you, Thresh.”

He suckled my nipple. “You—”

Flicked the other with tongue-tip. “Are—”

He rubbed that spot inside me with his fingers and ground his thumb against my clit, and I was wracked and gasping and couldn’t look away from his mesmerizing pale ice blue gaze. “So—”

And then, damn him, damn him, damn him…he kissed me. Once, a soft, brief, searing kiss, tongue feathering against mine, scouring my lips and my teeth and my tongue, a single kiss that rocked me to the bottom of my ruined heart.
 

“—Beautiful,” he said, pulling away enough to whisper the word against my lips.
 

And that was it.
 

I couldn’t hold out anymore.

The climax was blasting through me in endless waves of ecstasy, yanking screams out of me and pushing sobs out of me and making me thrash and writhe on his fingers, and then when he spoke that phrase, each word punctuated with a touch meant to drive me wilder and wilder, I lost it.
 

Everything.
 

Every last vestige of my hold on the sobs.

I came, and I did it sobbing.
 

And his gaze wouldn’t release me, wouldn’t let me look away.
 

Because, goddammit, he
meant
it.
 

And that was what wrecked me. More than the orgasm, even though it was the most intense, brutally powerful, erotic, thrilling, beautiful, perfect sensation I’d ever experienced, those four words he spoke, with his open blue gaze luminous with the truth of his statement…that was too much.
 

Because it was exactly what I’d almost said.

Touch my breasts
, I’d said
.
 

You seem to like them,
I said.
 

—And I need to feel beautiful
—that’s what I’d almost said.
 

I came, and I came, and I came. It seemed like it would never end, the waves of climax. He milked every wave out of me, kissing my breasts all over throughout it.
 

And when I finally stopped orgasming, he withdrew his hand from my core and cupped my breast in his huge palm, rolling the heavy weight in his palm, thumbing the nipple—which made me gasp and sob and flinch all over again—and then weighed the other breast in his hand. He was playing with my breasts for himself, I realized. Not for me, not to make me feel good, but for his own enjoyment.

I couldn’t breathe, and I was still sobbing.
 

Which he, somewhat belatedly, realized.
 

“Lola?”
 

“You told me I’d cry,” I said.
 

Trying to angle away, trying to shrug my bra straps back up and my shirt back on and trying to tuck my breasts back into the cups and not look at him and not think about anything and not feel anything, because it was all bashing down on me, all the feelings I’d been pushing away for so long, plus the orgasm and what he’d said and how it had made me feel and the
orgasm
, Jesus the orgasm, still quavering inside me, making me shake and shiver and shudder as after quakes struck one after another.

“Well, here I am, crying.” I was trying to do everything at once, and managed none of it.

Except the crying.
 

“Well shit, Lola, I didn’t mean like this.”

7: ENDURE THE ACHE

Shitshitshitshit.

When I said I’d make her cry, I meant the kind of crying a girl does when an orgasm is just so powerful she doesn’t know how else to express it.
 

Not these shuddering, wracking sobs that shook her whole body.
 

These weren’t good tears.

These were the tears of someone who’d had something so seriously hardcore done to her in the past that it had fucked her up. Something serious enough to make her shut down and refuse any kind of sexuality whatsoever. Something that left her unable to even talk dirty.
 

She wouldn’t look at me.
 

Her breasts were still hanging out of her shirt—and Jesus fuck and holy shit, those tits were pure perfection. More perfect than I’d even fantasized about. Huge, juicy, softer than anything I’d ever felt, quivering with every movement she made. God, I couldn’t get enough of them.
 

But she was having a full-on panic attack, made worse by the fact that she was bare from the waist up and had just had her first orgasm in three years, and couldn’t seem to make her hands work because she was sobbing and trying to get away from me, or herself, or just everything.

“Lola.”
 

She shook her head, and god, god, those tits bounced and shimmied, and my already painfully hard, diamond-hard cock hardened even more.
 

No time for that, though.
 

I touched her jaw with my index finger, and tilted her face to me. “Look at me, Lola. Please. Just…look at me.”
 

She twisted her head, peering at me through partially closed, tear-wet eyelids. Heaving, fighting sobs, teeth clenched, hands shaking. “Don’t, just—don’t.”
 

“Look at me, Lola.”

“I AM!” she shouted.
 

I held her gaze, steady and even and calm. “Breathe.”
 

She shook her head again. “I—I can’t. I can’t.” She began to shudder and convulsing sobs wracked her body. “I can’t catch my breath—” Beneath the hurt or whatever it was I’d caused, was the panic attack fear of not being able to breathe.
 

I leaned close to her, slowly, cupped the back of her neck, pulled her face to mine. “Then take my breath.” And I kissed her. Softly, gently, slowly.
 

I’d never kissed anyone the way I kissed Lola Reed in that moment. With every emotion inside me, with everything I had, I kissed her.

She sank into it after a moment of surprise, and her sobs slowed, and she slowly began to lose herself in the kiss, and god, I could lose myself too, because her lips were so fucking soft, so wet and warm and pliable and she kissed me desperately, beyond passion, beyond desperation, as if kissing me could fix whatever was wrong with her.
 

I didn’t let myself get lost, though.
 

Usually when I kissed a girl and she started to get into it, that’s when I’d make my move, slide her straps off so I could get to her tits. But in that moment, that kiss with Lola, I did the opposite.
 

I tugged one bra strap into place, and then the other. Tucked one breast into the lacy red cup of the bra, and then the other. Pulled up the straps of her tank, and then she was covered.

Sad, but necessary.
 

I broke the kiss, and she rested her forehead against mine and sucked in long, deep breaths, held them for three or four seconds each, and then let them out slowly. Her fingers knotted in my shirt over my chest as she fought to calm herself. Then, after a minute or so of breathing, she backed away, rubbed my chest, then slid her hands around to the back of my neck and the back of my head, and her eyes met mine, finally, still tear-hazed, but calmer and clearer.
 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I frowned. “For what?”

She huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Thresh. Everything? For making me come? For telling me you think I’m—” she stopped, shook her head, ducking. “For telling me you think I’m—”

She couldn’t even say it?

“Beautiful, Lola. That’s the word you’re looking for.” I touched her chin, lifted her face to mine. “More than beautiful. You’re sexy. You’re gorgeous.”

“Stop, Thresh.”

“Incredible. Delicious. Fine as hell. Foxy as fuck.”
 

She chuckled at that last one. “Oh my god. Stop!”

I held her jaw so she couldn’t look away. “Not stopping, Doc, so you’d best pay attention.” I leaned in, teased a kiss. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Lola.”
 

She jerked out of my grip, turning away. “Almost had me until that one, Thresh.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m bullshitting, Lola.”
 

She hesitantly turned back to look at me, and I gave her as much honesty in my eyes as I could muster. I meant what I said. She really was the most alluring, beautiful, sexy woman I’d ever met. She just didn’t believe it.
 

“I’ve met Hollywood A-list actresses, models, porn stars, pop stars.” I held up a hand to forestall the protest I saw forming. “And yeah, those chicks were all pretty gorgeous. But they all had one fault.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Let me guess: they weren’t me.” She turned away again. “Nice try, Thresh.”
 

“That’s not what I was gonna say, as a matter of fact.”

This got her curiosity. “Oh? Then what? What could I possibly have that models and porn stars don’t?”

“None of them turned me on. They didn’t make me crazy.” I palmed her cheek. “You…Lola, you make me crazy. You make me think, and say, and do things that are utterly unlike me. You make me so fucking horny it hurts, and that was
before
I got to see your tits. I nearly creamed my pants just touching
you. I’m still so fucking hard I’ll have blue balls for a week.”
 

“Thresh—” Her voice was small, hesitant.
 

“And Doc, let me reassure you, that is not normal for me. At all.”
 

Her gaze flicked down from my eyes to my crotch, which was bulging to comical proportions. I had to adjust in the worst way, but I didn’t dare. If I so much as brushed my cock, I’d either spurt all over myself—which I hadn’t done since I was fucking twelve—or I’d be begging her to finish me off.
 

And she was in no way ready for that.
 

But once her eyes fixed on my groin, she couldn’t seem to look away. “Jesus, Thresh.” Her hand reached tentatively toward me. “That looks…uncomfortable.”

“You have no idea.” I snagged her wrist. “But I’ll be fine. And I didn’t say that just to get you to do anything about it. You’re not ready for that. I just want you to understand how crazy you make me. You haven’t even touched me, and I’m about to explode. That’s how much you turn me on, just by fucking
existing
, Lola.”
 

This got her attention. “Thresh…”

“Someone fucked you over. Made you feel…I’m not sure exactly what. Ugly? Maybe they size-shamed you? I don’t know. Something horrible. And if I could get my hands on him—”