Yes. I want his hands and mouth all over me, but I can’t form the words. I’m too caught up to speak.
With another hard slam, my back hits the shelf and it sways. A book clatters to the ground, landing by my foot and brings me back from my fantasy. I just let this man slam me into a fucking bookshelf, twice . “I asked you a question. Do you, London?”
“I like it, but I sure the fuck don’t like you.” Dante’s lip curls into a mean sneer.
“What I wouldn’t give to shove my dick down your throat to shut you the fuck up.” My body throbs with each word.
“Try it.” I challenge him.
The sick part of this whole situation is that I want it. I’m itching to smack him and let him fuck me hard right up against this shelf. This is so wrong. “Oh London, the things I want to do to you should be illegal.”
“The thing I want you to do to me is let me go, you fuck-wit.” I shove into him but it’s pointless. He’s all solid, unmovable muscle. The more I push the more his eyes darken. The more I fight the bigger his smile grows. His hand moves in a flash tangling in my hair again. Ripping my head back, he looks down at me with eyes that are wild and unfocused, and I love it. He looks wild for me .
“Do you really want me to let go, or do you want me to me to fuck you senseless? By the time I’m done, you’ll still be begging me for more, and I guarantee that you will beg.”
“Fuck you.”
His lips crash down on mine and he bites down on my bottom lip, hard. I try to pull away but it hurts to move.
My lip drags though his teeth when I move, then he starts to kiss me like he can’t control himself. It’s forceful and rough, making me think of all the ways he would fuck me, and what he could really do with his mouth. His hands are everywhere, and mine are running through his messy hair, making it worse.
He fucking thrills me as he licks me, tastes me, and touches me. My lips feel abused in the best possible way until he stops. Keeping his lips on mine, he whispers, “That’s one way to shut you the fuck up.”
“You sorry son of a bitch. Get off of me.” Taking a step back, his chest heaves and his step falters. Looking at his hands, I see them shaking at his sides. He’s terrifying, but here I am, trying to be a hard ass and wanting, needing more of him. I feel sick and wrong about it, but I want him so bad. I’ve got to get away right now. I’m shaking more than he is and I don’t want him to see it. “I have―I’ve got class.” I sputter, scrubbing at my face. Throwing a hand out, he smirks, “Then you better go, London.”
“You’re so right.” I tell him. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile. He seems perfectly fine now, but I feel fucked up and thrown off kilter. I’m so unbelievably wet for him. “Yeah, I have class and you’ve made me late.” I tell him. Like he really gives a shit.
Jesus Christ. Straightening his tie, he looks up and smirks again. “Then what are you waiting for? You don’t want to be late, beautiful.” Giving me one last appraising stare, he smiles, turns on his heels and leaves me leaning against the bookshelf for support. I’m left feeling used, abused, and wanting a whole lot more.
Dante
I'm stalking right now. On this lovely Friday, I’m creeping and watching―I’m waiting. I spent all goddamn night searching and researching her at my computer. I haven’t gotten shit done at work this week because I’ve spent time I didn’t have stalking and researching her .
I’m crazy, but I just don’t fucking care anymore. I want to fuck London right out of my head, and I intend to do just that.
I stalk the college’s campus like a serial killer. I’ve got a plan all worked out. Every head full of long, brown hair sets my heart racing. I’ve followed at least four different women, thinking they were London. I’m assuming they’re all filing police reports as I speak of a stalker, but none are my London. I’ve lost all my edge with this
With another hard slam, my back hits the shelf and it sways. A book clatters to the ground, landing by my foot and brings me back from my fantasy. I just let this man slam me into a fucking bookshelf, twice . “I asked you a question. Do you, London?”
“I like it, but I sure the fuck don’t like you.” Dante’s lip curls into a mean sneer.
“What I wouldn’t give to shove my dick down your throat to shut you the fuck up.” My body throbs with each word.
“Try it.” I challenge him.
The sick part of this whole situation is that I want it. I’m itching to smack him and let him fuck me hard right up against this shelf. This is so wrong. “Oh London, the things I want to do to you should be illegal.”
“The thing I want you to do to me is let me go, you fuck-wit.” I shove into him but it’s pointless. He’s all solid, unmovable muscle. The more I push the more his eyes darken. The more I fight the bigger his smile grows. His hand moves in a flash tangling in my hair again. Ripping my head back, he looks down at me with eyes that are wild and unfocused, and I love it. He looks wild for me .
“Do you really want me to let go, or do you want me to me to fuck you senseless? By the time I’m done, you’ll still be begging me for more, and I guarantee that you will beg.”
“Fuck you.”
His lips crash down on mine and he bites down on my bottom lip, hard. I try to pull away but it hurts to move.
My lip drags though his teeth when I move, then he starts to kiss me like he can’t control himself. It’s forceful and rough, making me think of all the ways he would fuck me, and what he could really do with his mouth. His hands are everywhere, and mine are running through his messy hair, making it worse.
He fucking thrills me as he licks me, tastes me, and touches me. My lips feel abused in the best possible way until he stops. Keeping his lips on mine, he whispers, “That’s one way to shut you the fuck up.”
“You sorry son of a bitch. Get off of me.” Taking a step back, his chest heaves and his step falters. Looking at his hands, I see them shaking at his sides. He’s terrifying, but here I am, trying to be a hard ass and wanting, needing more of him. I feel sick and wrong about it, but I want him so bad. I’ve got to get away right now. I’m shaking more than he is and I don’t want him to see it. “I have―I’ve got class.” I sputter, scrubbing at my face. Throwing a hand out, he smirks, “Then you better go, London.”
“You’re so right.” I tell him. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile. He seems perfectly fine now, but I feel fucked up and thrown off kilter. I’m so unbelievably wet for him. “Yeah, I have class and you’ve made me late.” I tell him. Like he really gives a shit.
Jesus Christ. Straightening his tie, he looks up and smirks again. “Then what are you waiting for? You don’t want to be late, beautiful.” Giving me one last appraising stare, he smiles, turns on his heels and leaves me leaning against the bookshelf for support. I’m left feeling used, abused, and wanting a whole lot more.
Dante
I'm stalking right now. On this lovely Friday, I’m creeping and watching―I’m waiting. I spent all goddamn night searching and researching her at my computer. I haven’t gotten shit done at work this week because I’ve spent time I didn’t have stalking and researching her .
I’m crazy, but I just don’t fucking care anymore. I want to fuck London right out of my head, and I intend to do just that.
I stalk the college’s campus like a serial killer. I’ve got a plan all worked out. Every head full of long, brown hair sets my heart racing. I’ve followed at least four different women, thinking they were London. I’m assuming they’re all filing police reports as I speak of a stalker, but none are my London. I’ve lost all my edge with this
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