Hard Rules

“Emily—” he begins.

“Yes,” I say. “You can have the control.”

“I asked for trust.”

“Same thing,” I say, and he must not disagree, as he unzips my skirt, letting it fall to the ground, and already he’s dragging my jacket down my shoulders, his fingers caressing my skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake. I shiver and oh so easily, I am lost, not in worries or fears, but in this man, a thunderstorm of emotions and sensations assaulting my senses. There is no time for anything else but him, no room, and already my shirt has fallen to the ground, my bra is unhooked. Another blink, and Shane is on one knee, his fingers twining in the lace strips at my hips, dragging my panties down to my ankles. I have an instant to realize just how naked I am, inside and out, before his teeth scrape my backside, and I moan with the tightening of my sex and nipples. I’ve barely recovered from a rush of pleasure, before he’s standing again, lifting me, and kicking aside my clothing, my shoes lost in the process.

And then he is turning me to face him, tearing away my bra, his hands bracketing my waist, eyes lowering to rake over my breasts, then lifting to my face. “Trust has to be earned. Control can be taken and if you think control and trust are the same thing, you’ve been with the wrong man. I’m not the wrong man. At least, not tonight.”

“No,” I agree. “You are not the wrong man.”

“No, I am not, but right now, I just need to fuck. Hard and fast, and then we’ll do it right.”

“Hard and fast is right, if that’s what you need.”

“What do you need?”

“You,” I say, repeating what he’d said to me that first night we were together. “Just you.”

His eyes darken and he tugs his shirt off over his head. Before it even hits the ground, my hands are on his chest, fingers nestled in the springy hair there, heat seeping from his body, to mine. He cups my head and kisses me, and I sink into him, melting … Oh yes, I am melting into one big puddle of lust and desire, free in a way with this man that is indescribably different than with the men of my past. The way everything is indescribably different with Shane. And he is touching me, caressing me, pinching my nipples one moment, his fingers in the slick wet heat of my sex the next. We are wild. We are ready for more and more and more, but he pulls back, pressing his hands on the wall behind me. “Holy fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” I blurt out, and quickly add, “I don’t do unprotected sex. I just … I’m on the pill. I swear to you. The last thing I want is to get pregnant.”

He cups my face. “For who?”

“What?”

“Who did you go on the pill for?”

“Me. I did it for me.”

“Are you running from a man who’s going to show back up?”

“No. God no, Shane. And if we’re just fucking why does it matter anyway?”

“Don’t talk,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, his mouth slanting over mine. And then he is kissing me, and there is more than guilt on his lips now. There is hunger, lust, demand. And I answer him, holding nothing back, wild, frenzied, and everything is a whirlwind of sensation that burns through me until there is nothing but my hands on him and his on me. Somehow, his clothes are fully gone, and I’m against the wall, or the front door I think, and he is inside me, cupping my backside and lifting me. I respond instantly, my legs automatically wrap around his waist and I don’t know how, or why, but we still, our bodies locked together, our breathing heavy whispers, coming together as one. We are one in this moment, two people lost and found in each other, both of us fighting a battle the other understands in ways no one else can.

Seconds tick by, and he whispers, “What the hell are you doing to me?” but I never get the chance to ask him the same. He lifts me off the wall, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, molding me to him, the other cupping my backside as he pulls me down on the hard thick ridge of his erection, and thrusts into me again. I pant, curling forward and holding on to him, burying my face in his neck. And then we are moving, swaying, a grind to our hips, a raw urgency to every glide and pump, the sounds he is making, low, guttural, and oh so sexy, drive me to the edge. Tension builds between us, and in my sex, that sweet spot spiking my nerve endings, and pushing me to that place of no return. My sex clenches like a vise around his shaft, every muscle in my body tenses with it. He groans, his hands flexing into my back and bottom, and he starts to shake. I think I am shaking too, and everything fades into bliss. I don’t know how much time goes by until I come to the present. And he is back too. I feel it like I feel him.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, carrying me deeper into the darkness of the apartment. I don’t know where he is taking me, and I don’t care. I want more of him, wherever that takes us. Turns out, that’s the bathroom off the living room, where he flips on a light, and sets me on the counter by the sink. He grabs a towel, offering it to me before he pulls out, and snatches another to clean himself up, before tossing it into the hamper. “Stay right here,” he orders, already disappearing into the other room.

I glance around a bathroom similar to the one upstairs, in that it’s all white, but this one smaller with an egg-shaped tub. My mind is on how completely naked I feel right now, and how unsure I am about what to expect next. Shane returns, his sweatpants back in place, a T-shirt in his hand that he slips over my head. “Your uniform of my choice,” he says when it’s in place, resting his hands on either side of me. “I’m glad you’re here.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">