Kept by Him by Red Garnier

You said so yourself, it’s over. I’m
     not going to be ordered around by you!”
    He pinned her down the length of the seat, his eyes dark and tumultuous, his unmistakable
     erection rock-hard solid against her hipbone. “So you want Roland,” he said through
     gritted teeth, his hands clenching her wrists, “who’ll stand by your side and hold
     your hand and fetch your drink.”
    “Let go of me!”
    She struggled against his grip, but suddenly he looked terribly big, and terribly
     jealous, his eyes flashing bright green. Unexpectedly, her struggles melted into a
     shudder of need. He dropped his voice then, and he spoke to her in a seductive murmur.
     “If I let you go, then who’s going to do this?”
    Her clothes were plastered to her, and his hands released her to reach for the opening
     of her shirt, slowly flicking the buttons open. The feel of his fingertips as they
     unbuttoned her shirt electrified her. He’d removed his jacket she didn’t know when,
     but she could see the outline of his nipples through his soaked black button-down
     shirt. They poked, two hard points, into the material.
    Heat filled her core, making the cold almost vaporize around her as a rush of cream
     gathered between her thighs. Her own nipples responded and, although already erect
     from the cold, they pressed harder into her bra and blouse.
    He raked his gaze across her curves, perfectly delineated by the flimsy silk blouse
     she’d worn, and his nostrils expanded. “You crave my touch, Monica,” he said, suddenly
     foregoing the unbuttoning of her shirt and sliding his hands under the fabric to pull
     down the lace of her bra and engulf both mounds in his big hands.
    He squeezed and caressed, massaged until the pleasure made her every fingertip tingle
     in pleasure.
    “You ache for this. You beg for it. Your pulse goes crazy. You tremble. You arch and
     push up for more. You go wet and hot and desperate. It’s why you keep coming for it …
     it’s why you can’t think straight anymore … you want this. You need this more than
     you will ever know or even understand.”
    She wanted him so much, a fire burst open in her belly, incredibly hot. His thumbs
     passed and tweaked the throbbing nipple tips, and her body arched to the almost painful
     touch, her hips circling eagerly in search of his erection.
    “What do you think would go on with me, Monica?” He gentled his voice, his eyes liquid
     green as he pushed the halfway undone shirt aside to reveal one puckered wet breast,
     and he proved to her how in control he was of her own body, making her moan deep in
     her throat as he bent to devour her nipple until it throbbed.
    “I’ve had it bad for you my entire life,” he said, blowing air into the thrumming
     crest. “Holding you while you cried in my arms without making you mine was the most
     difficult thing I’ve ever done. You arouse me like crazy. I lust for you, respect
     you, admire you.… Why do you think we look for what we look for in others? What is
     it you think we really feel for each other?”
    She tossed her head in protest, but even when bristling, her neglected breast also
     ached for his kisses. Her voice was raw with need. “Don’t you dare even imply that
     you care,” she said with gritted teeth, grabbing his head and hauling him to her breast,
     moaning when he exposed it through the meager parting of her shirt and laved it with
     his tongue. “You don’t just wear a B ORN F REE tattoo and get to say this to me,” she cried.
    He pulled her into a sitting position, his chest heaving as he ran a fingertip over
     her trembling bottom lip, his face harsh and beautiful in its intensity. “We’ve been
     going against what we want for over a decade, Monica. Why is nothing ever enough for
     me, not harder sex, not more women? Why can’t you be with another man?”
    “That’s not true.” She pushed at his hand and edged down the seat away from him. “Go
     back to your hussies,