After Hours by Cara McKenna Page A

could
     feel his hips moving, rubbing his thick length against my inner thighs with steady
     thrusts.
    I’d never wanted a man so intensely. So simply. His flesh inside mine, two greedy
     bodies taking what they wanted from each other. I imagined him above me, working.
     That harsh face, cruel with arousal, that voice hijacked by the sounds of his nearing
     release. My own climax was building against his quickening touch. I fondled my breast,
     toying with my nipple to double the sensations.
    I was close, so close, and Kelly could tell. His hips bumped my backside again and
     again, clothed cock fucking my thighs. He grunted behind my ear with each impact,
     and it was his voice that did me in. The orgasm swallowed me whole, drowning me in
     perfect, violent heat; too much, way too much. I grabbed Kelly’s wrist, forcing his
     hand higher, the pleasure so intense it hurt.
    I heard myself panting, gulping air.
    I heard Kelly murmur, “Good girl,” and he kissed my jaw. I let his wrist go and the
     ball of his hand brushed my throbbing clit with a jolt. His fingers dipped lower,
     parting me like water. I blushed, shocked by how wet I was.
    That’s been permission enough for too many pushy men,
I reminded myself. But his fingers delved deeper and a lust-heavy sigh in my hair
     erased the worries.
    “That’s where I want to be,” he whispered. He stroked my clit with his slick fingers,
     then slipped back inside with a moan. “You want me there, too, don’t you?”
    I wouldn’t lie, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t take this chance to reassert
     some boundaries. “I want you,” I admitted. “But not tonight. Not that far.”
    “I heard you the first time.” Not a jot of irritation in his tone—just a fact. His
     hand left my pussy to fumble behind my butt. Suddenly I could feel him, his unmistakably
     bare cock between my thighs, pressed to the damp crotch of my panties. Then he was
     touching me again, warm fingers penetrating with slippery suggestion, erection stroking
     me through the cotton. He spoke right against my neck, lips tickling my skin. “Feel
     that?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Feel how bad I want you?”
    He pressed roughly against me, a thrust that would’ve made us lovers if not for my
     last stitch of clothing. I answered with a little moan.
    “You’re so wet,” he whispered. He rubbed my clit, letting his length tease my lips
     with the friction of wet cotton. I felt the flex of his hips as he thrust, muscle
     as hard as his dick. “I can’t wait to feel you.” His body sped at the suggestion,
     alongside my pulse. I hadn’t had many lovers, and none had ever been able to do this—to
     make me this crazed. Certainly not to make me come without instruction or assistance.
     But his fingers read me like Braille, and in no time at all I felt a second climax
     building against his touch.
    Fuck, I wanted him. I wanted him above me, those strong hips spreading my thighs.
     I wanted to see him—his face and chest and cock as he took me. But not tonight.
Not tonight.
    “I’m gonna make you come,” he said. “Tell me.”
    “You are.” Oh, he was. His bossy words alone had me close.
    “I’m what?”
    “You’re going to make me come.”
    A smug
hmmm
at my ear, wet fingertips at my clit, hungry cock begging for entrance. He pulled
     my panties aside. I froze. But it was his fingers that taunted my folds, not his cock.
    “So tempting,” he muttered.
    Indeed. Just one bad decision and I’d be able to feel his hard flesh inside me.
    “Someday you’ll give yourself to me,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let me have whatever
     I want, do whatever I say.”
    It would’ve been a pretty pompous announcement if I hadn’t suspected it was completely
     true.
    “I’ll have you pleading for my cock.” He pumped me with his fingers, hips mirroring
     the rhythm. “Can’t wait to hear you beg.” He let the crotch of my panties go, slipping
     his fingers back down the front to rub my