Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy by Charlotte Eve Page A

him, closing my eyes with a shiver of anticipation as I felt him clambering eagerly up in the bed, felt his hot hands gripping my waist, and then his cock slowly slipping inside me from behind.
    I waited for his thrusts to become harder, more urgent, but they remained slow and steady, soft and tender, as if he was afraid to hurt me.
    “Fuck me,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder at Greg, grinding myself back against him, wanting to feel him pound me hard and fast. “Please … Fuck me, hard . ”
    His eyes were closed, but when I said that he opened them, fixing me in his gaze for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. But then he tightened his grip on my hips and increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts.
    “Fuck me, Greg, fuck me harder,” I urged, still wanting it to be harder, wanting him to hurt me . “Harder, harder … ” I urged, knowing now that no matter how hard he fucked me, it wouldn’t be enough.
    Slowly but surely, I felt my orgasm build, and I buried my face in the sheets as I came, whimpering and crying, my ass thrust high in the air, my teeth clamping down on the sheets as my body shuddered and bucked beneath him. Greg came soon after, a low grunt escaping his lips, his cock buried deep inside me, his hands gripping my hips, his sweaty body falling down on top of me, the animal heat of his skin burning like a fever against my back.
    “Wow,” he whispered a few moments later, his breath still trembling, his voice full of surprise, “that was certainly … different .”
    I sighed and pressed myself back against him, screwing my eyes shut tight, fighting back the tears that had started to prick at the corners of my eyes.
    “I love you,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.
    “I love you too, baby,” he whispered back, kissing my neck softly, totally unaware of my deep, churning guilt. “I love you too.”
     
    §
     
    “You’ve hardly touched your food,” Fallon said, polishing up the last of her sweet potato fries, the following Monday lunchtime. I’d met her in a cute little cafe diner, just around the corner from her print studio in Bushwick.
    “You can have mine too if you want,” I replied, pushing my almost completely untouched burger and fries towards her.
    “That’s not what I meant,” she said, shooting me a concerned smile. “But I’ll take it, I’m ravenous ... Everything okay?”
    “It’s fine,” I snapped back, a little too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s all going great.”
    At this she held up her hands as if to say, ‘don’t shoot’, and I immediately felt bad about snapping and about my weird, shy, moody behavior — not just with her today, but also with Greg all the rest of the weekend, picking at him in between bouts of confusing silence. And I’d been this way, I realized, ever since my Friday night at Blake’s party.
    Blake , I thought, again, for what felt like the millionth time.
    I just couldn’t seem to get him out of my head; he was like some kind of infection.
    And just then, I heard my iPad chime in my bag, letting me know I had a new email. I felt a strange pang of dread, suspecting I knew exactly who it was from.
    “Sorry, I’d better just check that,” I said, reaching down and lifting my bag onto the table, opening it and slipping out the iPad, tapping through to emails. Sure enough, there was one new message from Blake Matthews, just a single line long:
     
    So, did you have fun?
     
    I quickly exited back out of emails and slipped the iPad back into my bag with shaky fingers, feeling a hot rush of blood to my face, as if the whole diner suddenly knew about my kinky little adventure on Friday night.
    “You alright?” Fallon asked.
    “I’m fine,” I replied, trying to shrug off the email. “It’s just Blake Matthews , again. God, he’s so fucking annoying.”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” I continued, not even really sure what I was about to say next, just wanting desperately to throw Fallon off