August presses his cheek to mine, his words guttural and claiming. “Always loved fucking this pussy.”
Shamefully, my body reacts, my nipples tightening over his crass words. I think they were meant to both compliment and belittle me at the same time. I can feel how much he likes what he’s doing, but it was a pointed reminder that I’m nothing more than a vessel to him.
Apparently, that doesn’t matter to my body. His dirty talk makes my blood sing. To my horror, a single, plaintive word slips free. “More.”
August growls viciously, hammering his cock into me. The headboard starts banging against the wall of the room next door that houses the man we’d woken up earlier. For the life of me, I can’t even find it in me to care.
Hell, part of me is actually turned on by the fact the man can hear me getting my brains fucked out.
August repeatedly slams into me, the slapping sounds of skin on skin loud as his every stroke edges me closer and closer to an orgasm.
But then, he slows. His arms around me loosen slightly, and he lifts his head so he can peer down. He fucks me by unhurriedly stroking in, pausing to grind against me, then leisurely withdrawing before repeating the process.
“Just like last time we were together,” he says, but there’s a disconnect between his words and his tone. It’s flat, not sentimental at all. Despite the lack of emotion, his next statement both thrills and terrifies me. “I’m a different man these days, Leighton.”
“How so?” I whisper, only to moan as he presses in deep once again.
He grins, but not in a friendly way. It proclaims he knows things I don’t—and when I find them out, I’m going to be a different woman, too.
“I think I’ll show you,” he muses.
And once again, he’s gone, leaving me empty.
After I process the loss, I watch as he moves all the pillows stacked near the headboard to a pile in the middle of the bed. He even rises to grab the ones from the other bed, and I’m fascinated by the thick length of him sticking out from between the teeth of his zipper. He hasn’t even removed his pants.
I have no clue why all the pillows are now beside me. Suddenly, I’m wondering if suffocation is part of his game plan.
That would still be an unknown as he picks me up, flips me over, and tosses me stomach down onto the pile. He rearranges them, even fluffing them up. Each movement tips my ass up higher into the air.
Roughly, he spreads my legs apart, then I feel his jean-clad legs harsh against my skin. He palms my ass cheeks, using his thumbs to pull them apart.
As my face flushes hot with embarrassment, his cock presses into me from behind. He kneads the muscles of my ass while he fucks me from behind.
Christ… he feels even bigger from this angle—my torso angled down and my cheek pressed into the mattress. Peeking over my shoulder, I feel a hot rush at how dirty it looks with my ass up in the air and him thrusting into me. August stares at my ass in fascination. It’s almost as if he’s in a dream-like haze when he sticks his forefinger into his mouth. I can’t turn away, hypnotized, as he rolls his tongue over the digit, thoroughly wetting it before pulling it from his mouth.
What in the hell does he plan on doing with…
The thought dissipates as I’m blinded by stars. Literally thousands of pinpoints of light obliterate my vision when he presses his finger deep into my ass.
It’s too much for me. His thick cock in my pussy, his finger lodged in my ass, and the pure filth of the scene it creates all combine to make me explode like a cannon.
I screech out my climax, feeling my ass mercilessly tighten around his finger. My pussy ripples as wave after wave of the most sinful, sensational, and mind-blowing orgasm rockets up and down my spine. My toes curl, my back arches and I shamefully moan out August’s name.
Not sure what exactly sets him off, but he slams into me once more, grunting out his own release. That devious little finger slips out of me, his hands going to my hips to hold me still. He grinds against me, as if trying to purge every last drop of himself as deep into me as he possibly can.
His body collapses, his weight pushing me into my pillow mountain before he rolls us to our sides. We’re both gasping for air. While I can’t speak for August, I feel deliciously broken in a way that makes me not ever want to be put back together.
We lay side by side, his cock still partially in me from behind. I can feel his lower abdomen, still covered by his t-shirt, against my back, and his breath on my neck.
Tensely, I wait—for words or even some level of affection. Even just an arm around my waist to pull me in a little closer.
He holds still, doing nothing but inhaling and exhaling.
I can’t stand the silence. Deciding to try to extend an olive branch, I’m grateful I can’t see his face right now or else I’d probably chicken out. “I’m glad we reconnected, August. Not only for Sam, but also because I’ve missed you.”
Yes, sex has made me sentimental and mushy.
Foolish as well.
August doesn’t reply.
It makes me angry. I start to turn so I can face him, but he merely rises and climbs off the bed. I grab a pillow and cover myself, turning to him as he zips up. When he buckles his belt, I watch silently, but he refuses to meet my eyes.
“Can you at least say something?” I demand, my anger warring with a sudden urge to cry.
Arrogantly, August deems to give me his attention, coolly appraising the way I’m now covering my nudity with a pillow. He shakes his head, an almost vindictive expression twisting his features with something like sympathy. “I stopped missing you a long damn time ago.”
God, that hurts. I don’t know if it’s true, but his words make a direct hit on my heart.
He waves at me… at the bed. “This was simply the emotion of the moment getting out of hand. Don’t get me wrong… it was great. But it didn’t mean anything. Understand?”
I nod dumbly. “Okay.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow so we can make arrangements to get Sam here,” he says, pivoting away. He doesn’t even glance back, but merely talks while striding to the door. “I’ve already arranged transportation.”
And without another word—about what we just shared or how he intends to transport Sam to Vegas for treatment—August walks out the door and shuts it firmly behind himself.
CHAPTER 7
August
We are halfway through the two-hour flight from Vegas to Denver, and Leighton still hasn’t said a word. Didn’t speak to me this morning when I picked her up from her hotel, either. She sits across from me in a sleek captain’s chair on one of Declan Blackwood’s private planes. It’s all brown leather and gold-plated accents. I’ve never flown privately before, and I expect this plane is probably top of the line. It’s all lost on me right now, though, and I can’t drum up any genuine appreciation given the gravity of the situation.
Leighton won’t meet my eyes, even though our chairs are opposite each other with a table separating us. Her earbuds in, she’s staring blankly out the window at the clouds below us. I wonder if she can feel the weight of my glare. I’ve been in a rotten mood since leaving her hotel room.
Frankly, I had the best goddamn sex of my life with her last night… and I’m pissed about it. It freaks me out, actually. Shouldn’t Leighton and I have had our best sex when we were young and in love?