Tingling fingers of sensations began to play across her flesh. She froze beneath him. She remembered this part. Clearly, so clearly.
Her eyes struggled to open as she felt Dawg lever up, looking into his absorbed expression before she followed the point where his gaze had locked.
There, between her thighs. Her legs were draped over his thighs, spread wide, her h*ps angled to the thick spear of flesh pressing into her.
Crista watched as the wet folds parted, separating for his cock, hugging the wide crest as he pressed closer, penetrated the tender opening, and he groaned with hoarse male pleasure.
“So sweet. So hot.”
Crista whimpered as her body began to stretch to accommodate the impalement. She shook her head against the cushion she lay on, dazed by the pleasure beginning to build inside her.
No, this went beyond pleasure. It went beyond words that Crista could compare it to. It was like being the center of a flame. It was burning in rapture.
“Dawg…It’s so good.” She watched. Watched as the wide crest disappeared inside her. As aching pleasure-pain began to fill her.
“Easy.” He held her as her h*ps twisted, as she fought for more. A deeper stroke, a hard, filling thrust. “You’re too tight, Crista. We’ll go slow. Easy.”
“You didn’t before,” she whispered feeling the agonizing need clawing through her system as her gaze lifted to his. “Like before, Dawg. All of you. All over me.”
His h*ps bucked, piercing her another inch before he controlled the impulse. She didn’t want his control. She wanted his hunger. As frightening as it could be, as dominant and possessive as it was, she wanted it all.
Her hands lifted from the cushions her nails had been digging into. Lifting her arms, she arched them behind her head, stretched, lifted, then lowered them until her hands could cup her br**sts, and her fingers could play erotically with her ni**les.
“You were wild that night,” she whispered.
She had seen his desperation to separate dream from reality, and now some wicked imp insisted that she help him remember.
“How wild?” His gaze blistered her with erotic hunger.
“You didn’t hesitate.” She brought a finger to her lips, dampened it, then painted her hard nipple with the moisture.
His gaze sliced to the motion before pulling back to her eyes, hotter, darker than before.
His breath was sawing in and out of his chest; moisture clung to his forehead, his shoulders.
“It might hurt,” he groaned, easing back.
“It destroyed me,” she assured him. “Pleasure and pain.” Her breathing hitched at the memory.
“And you were wild and hungry…”
Her head tipped back as a ragged, strangled scream left her lips at the penetration.
Halfway. He was buried halfway inside her, but he pulled back quickly, his muscles bunching as he gripped her h*ps and plunged inside her again.
All the way.
Crista arched to him, her h*ps jerked, writhed, undulated to the fiery stretching, the pleasure-pain and ecstatic sensations whipping through her like wildfire now.
“Like that?” He spoke, but he didn’t stop.
Hard hands held her beneath him, his h*ps thrust and churned, his erection plunged inside her, spreading the fire and sending it burning through her body. Across sensitive nerve endings, through her pleasure-dazed mind and back to the clenching, spasming muscles of her vagina as it struggled to hold him inside, to hold on to the sensations that built to cataclysmic proportions.
“Is that what you want?” he snarled, f**king her furiously now, building sensation on top of sensation.
Her hands latched onto his wrists as he held her hips, her gaze locking with his as she felt perspiration begin to roll off her body.
“Like this,” she panted, shuddering beneath him, her hands sliding up his arms, reaching for his face. “All of it. Like before. Just like before.”
Before, his lips had been at her ni**les, his lips, teeth, and tongue ravaging the tips as his c**k ravished her pu**y.
And he knew. A hollow groan left his throat as he came over her, his lips covering her nipple as Crista became lost in the eroticism of being possessed by Dawg.
Hard plunging hips, the thick length of his cock, his lips suckling at her nipple, his hands latching in her hair and pulling at it sensually.
The band of tension in her womb began to tighten. Her h*ps flexed beneath him, arching to him as he f**ked her with mindless hunger, took her with dominant strength.
She was possessed. Taken. Fingers of fire rippled and burned beneath her flesh, and within seconds the conflagration overtook her. The orgasm that tore through her had her crying out at the intensity of the pleasure that rushed through her system. It exploded through her; it ripped through the few remaining defenses around her soul as it released more than just the sexual tension.
She held onto him, her arms tight around his neck as she shuddered through each spasm of pleasure, felt his release tearing through him, and whimpered at the remembered sensation of his se**n pulsing inside her.
The man was known for his paranoia with condoms, and twice he had forgotten while taking her.
It was enough to terrify a woman.
As he collapsed over her, Crista let a weary breath leave her throat and felt her muscles become relaxed, slack. Weariness washed over her, and she gave in to it. Because it was better to give in to it than it was to think about exactly what had happened. Because if she had to think, then she had to remember. And if she had to remember, then fear was going to overcome her. The fear of losing her soul once again.
“Crista,” he whispered her name against her ear then. “Did I make it better this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me the truth now.” He kissed the shell of her ear gently. “That first time, did I hurt you?”
Silence filled the room. Memories and regrets clashed inside her, tearing at her soul.
“More than you’ll ever know, Dawg. More than you’ll ever know.”
SEVEN
Dawg had learned years before how to read between the lines when it came to women. The survival instinct was strong, and as a boy he had learned that a soft smile and a gentle voice didn’t always mean a gentle heart. Just as he had learned that there were often a dozen different definitions to any one comment that a man could garner when it came to difficult questions.
Had he hurt her? He heard the flash of remembered pain in her voice, but the memory wasn’t of a physical hurt. He hadn’t forced her, he hadn’t taken her so roughly that he had destroyed girlish dreams of a first time. If her response to him in the living room was anything to go by, then she had hungered as much for him as he had for her over the years.