Hard Compromise

By: Samanthe Beck


“Booker—”

“How hard?”

“What?”

The impatience in her voice made him smile. “How hard do you like to be handled?”

She cocked her head and gave him an imperious look. “Do I look like the kind of girl you need to be gentle with?”

In answer, he braced his forearms against the wall, leaned in, and slowly, deliberately let his sweater graze her nipples. To his satisfaction, she nearly dissolved. Her eyelids drifted down, her cheeks flushed, and her breath hitched on a helpless sound.

“Was that a whimper?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Really? It sounded like a whimper to me. Next time, I’ll—”

“No.” She shook her head. “No next time.”

“Next time,” he continued, ignoring her interruption because there sure as hell would be a next time, “I’ll spend days teasing your tits like this, just to hear you whimper for me again, but now”—he released her wrists and lifted her until he brought his head level with her straining nipples—“I’m going to taste them.”

She gripped his shoulder with one hand, plunged the other into his hair, and arched up, trying to take control. “Finally.”

Resisting her attempt to use him to her satisfaction, he rested his mouth against one pink crest. “Patience, Lauralie,” he murmured, and gave her the barest of kisses. She let loose a strangled curse. Her nipple throbbed between his lips. Her knees turned into a vice, and the back of her head hit plaster. He kept the kisses slow, and the pull light, until she writhed against the wall with feverish grace.

Gentle worked for her, regardless of what she claimed. Time to see how rough she liked it. He gradually increased the depth and suction of each kiss, filling his mouth, allowing his teeth to score her skin. Her body lifted toward his, as if connected by a network of wires running from her nipple to the farthest reaches of her nervous system. When she panted his name, he kissed his way to the other breast, and lashed his tongue along the underside until she shoved herself into his mouth. He lavished the same attention, sucking gently, then not so gently, then gently again, enjoying how she alternated between showering him with praise and damning him to hell.

Music to his ears. Agony to his dick. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted his next breath, but he’d endure. If he gave in to the urgency, as soon as he pulled out she’d reduce this to a one-night stand. Easy to compartmentalize and dismiss. He wouldn’t allow her do it. He’d push past her barriers, even if need tore at him. Even if they both crawled away a little worse for wear by the time he finished. He intended to share more with her than an orgasm. Or a series of orgasms. Though drawing one out of her now, just to make sure she knew how effectively he could, seemed like a good place to start. Releasing her, he dropped to his knees, and pulled at her slippery white shorts. They caught on the flare of her hips. “How do I—?”

“Back here,” she gasped, already reaching behind her. “There’s a zipper—”

That’s all the information he needed. He spun her around, gaining ridiculous satisfaction from her startled, “Oh!” It took less than a second to rip the zipper down, and drag the weightless fabric out of his way. The shorts pooled around the ankles of the metallic cock-teasers some designer had the balls to call shoes.

Lace as delicate as a butterfly’s wing stretched across the span of her hips, framing the graceful curves along the top of her ass, and delving into the valley between flawless, unprotected cheeks. Hard to believe she hadn’t planned that view for someone. Out of line as they were, the territorial thoughts returned in full force.

While he watched, goose bumps rose on her skin. To torture them both, he pressed a kiss to the small of her back, then to the divot on one side of her spine, and then the twin on the other side. She sighed. Fidgeted.

“Who’d you wear these skimpy panties for?”

“Me,” she shot back. “They’re pretty. I like the way they fit.”

“You like having a thin strip of lace wedged all up in here?” He plucked the strip in question and let it snap back into place.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t you think it looks good?”

She looked fucking amazing, and he had a primitive urge to make sure nobody else enjoyed the sight. Ever. He leaned in and scraped his teeth over bare skin until he snagged the line of lace just above where it disappeared from view. A jerk of his head rent the fabric. He opened his jaw and let the ruined lingerie drop to the floor.

“Oh my God.” The wall muffled her voice, but nothing could disguise the way her legs trembled. “Did you just tear my underwear off with your teeth?”

“I owe you a new pair. Now answer my question, or three guesses where my teeth go next.” He menaced the plushest part her ass cheek with his incisors.

“Get over yourself, Booker. I wore them for me.”

He couldn’t get over himself. He wanted to hear her say his name, even if it wasn’t true. His frustrated growl gave her fair warning, but all she managed was an edgy cry when he sank his teeth into one ripe, peach-like curve. He snuck his fingers between her thighs, and curled them, barely brushing hot, damp, unbelievably soft flesh before she bucked away.