Page 59 of The Dirty Ones

“Now,” I say, tugging him back up my body by his hair. “Right now.” Because I can’t wait another minute. I like the slow buildup. And with Sofia it was necessary so everyone got the attention they deserved. But alone… I can’t wait any longer. If she was here I would. I’d make myself. And we’d do this all over again with her. Only I’d be pushing up next to her, helping the way she helped us. And we’d always come before he entered us. Sometimes more than once. We’d always feel wanted, and needed, and satisfied before Connor took his turn. And neither of us were jealous if he came inside the other. Because we knew we’d get our turn. It might take twenty minutes, or twenty hours, or twenty days, but we’d get our turn.

But when he enters me now I know he’s all mine. I will get all the rewards. All the time. All the attention.

His cock is so hard, his balls so tight when I lift my knees up, spread my legs wide open, and give them the room they need to bounce against my asshole, I almost come. But I bite my lip, and Connor kisses them, nibbling along to take my mind off what he’s doing to me. How he makes me feel, and the building explosion.

And it works. For now. Because I settle down and open my eyes so I can look at him.

His beautiful face, and his rough jaw, and the way he breathes hard as he thrusts himself deep inside, and then pulls out so slow, I grab his ass and try to force him to go faster.

He doesn’t respond. Not the way I want him to, at least. He just does it the way I need it, not the way I want it. Because he knows. He knows everything about me. Inside, outside, everywhere.

He knows things I’ve forgotten long ago.

His hands are flat on the bed, his disheveled hair hanging down over his face. No longer slicked back like the man he was when he came to my cottage yesterday afternoon, but the lover he is now. In the heat of the sex. Our sweaty bodies sliding against each other, reminding me of hot summer nights I never spent with him. Reminding me of all the days and years we’ve been apart and how this moment right now makes up for all of them.

We are right where we’re supposed to be.

He’s gazing down at me with those brown-green eyes I can barely make out. But I don’t need to see them to see them. They are burned in my memory. A part of me left over from times gone by.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Say all the things to me.”

“Fuck me harder,” I say, smiling. Breaking the erotic spell, just a little.

“Not good enough,” he says. “I’ve heard better.”

Which makes me laugh. And that laugh feels so, so, so good. And I want to make him happy. I want to impress him with all the years I’ve spent writing erotic sex scenes. Imagining him as my hero in every single book. Putting words in his mouth, and my mouth, and playing out all my dirty fantasies on the pages with paragraphs and chapters, and books, and books, and more books.

So I say, “Flip me over and fuck me hard, Mr. Arlington. Because if you don’t, I’ll walk away wanting more.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m after,” he whispers. “Maybe I don’t want you to love it. Maybe I want you to need more so next time you’ll see what’s missing.”

“I know what’s missing,” I say. “But she’s not here and we are. So we’ll just have to pretend.”

“Tell me more,” he says. “Tell me what you want her to do.”

“If Sofia was here, and you were on top of me the way you are now, she’d be right next to me,” I say. “She’d be on her side, head resting on my shoulder, looking up at you as you pushed your cock deep inside me.”

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans. “Fuck, yeah, she would.”

Because that’s how it was.

“She’d play with my breasts. Pinch my nipples, and kiss my mouth. Her hand would slowly find its way between my legs. To the mess of wet, sticky sex from our mingled bodies. And she’d play with it. Rubbing it on my stomach. Playing with my clit—”

“Jesus Christ, Kiera. That mouth is so dirty, makes me want to kiss it.”

So he does. He kisses my dirty mouth as he fucks me. And when he pulls his head aside to bite my shoulder because the motion of our bodies is too much to maintain a kiss, I go on.

“She’d get me off with you inside. Make me come with her fingers. And wrap her legs around me any way she could manage so I could feel how wet she was for us. How ready she was for you—”