Filed to story: The Mindf*ck Series Read Online Free
It makes me want him even more.
I tug at the front of his shirt and wind his tie around my other hand, pulling him as close as possible. He makes some strained sound before grinding into the vee of my thighs, driving me that much crazier.
“We should slow down,” he says against my lips.
“We really should,” I agree, still kissing him and pulling him impossibly closer.
“Where’s your room?” he asks, trying and failing to break the kiss.
“Down the hall and to the right.”
He lifts me and starts walking, bypassing the stairs to the part of the house he definitely can’t see. My legs stay wrapped around him as I try not to think of how dangerous this could be.
I never expected him to just show up without warning, and there’s an entire murder room upstairs just waiting to be discovered.
Mentally, I do a quick worry list over the things he might find in the bedroom, and realize most everything has already been put away. As long as he doesn’t accidentally turn on the monitoring system in my living room, we should be good.
My back crashes against the wall when he stumbles, and my thoughts flee as the kiss grows more aggressive. Too many times I’ve tried to feel this passion and never felt an ounce of the fire as what’s burning between us.
My fingers skate down the front of his shirt until I rip it open, fully opening it and pushing it out of the way as a few buttons skitter across the floor, running with their newfound freedom. Firm skin finds my fingertips, and I moan against his lips when he shudders against me like he feels all the flames I do.
We’ll burn good together.
His tongue demands more attention from mine, and I kiss with abandon like I never have before. My hands slide up and tangle in his hair, angling his head so I can devour him properly.
He grunts and pushes away from the wall, walking quickly again.
“Your other right,” I say when he starts walking into my guest room on the left where Jake stays when he comes to visit.
He changes course and continues to move quickly. I hear the fan humming in my room as we walk in, and anticipation buds in my core, ready to be released.
He drops me to the bed in a flurry of motion that surprises me, and I prop up on my elbows, taking in the sight of him as he finishes stripping his ruined shirt off. All tan, lean muscle and smooth skin.
A twinge of dread unfurls within me. The scars on my body aren’t all hidden. My face was easier to fix than the rest of me.
“Too fast?” he asks, apparently misreading the reason for my hesitation to join him in the getting-naked routine.
“No,” I say, forcing my thoughts to blank.
The past can’t continue to rule me, and I’m supposed to be beyond the worry of what people will think when they see the scars.
He looks hesitant now.
“Lana, I shouldn’t have barged in and came at you like a savage. But…” His eyes dip to where my thighs are spread wide, nothing but the thin panties hiding the goods from him. He swallows audibly before meeting my gaze again. “We can slow down. I promise this isn’t why I showed up.”
A slow smile curves my lips. He’s pretty amazing when he’s trying to be a good guy.
Climbing up to my knees, I crawl toward him, and his pupils dilate. He’s turned on, which doesn’t take profiling skills to figure out.
Slowly, I move toward him, and he remains completely still. When I reach him, I lean forward and flick my tongue against the firm flesh on his abs. A quiet sound escapes him, and that seems to snap that small thread of control.
His hand goes to my hair, and with a hard tug, he forces my head back as he lowers his face and finds my lips again. It’s rough and hungry, and completely different from anything I thought I’d ever want.
I’ve been controlling sex since I found it in me to be intimate again. This is the first time I’ve ever felt comfortable letting a guy lead.
“Where the hell have you been?” he says against my lips, causing me to grin against him as he pushes me down, coming down on top of me.
I’m not sure what that means, but I love the awe in his tone.
My smile dies as I wait for the inevitable panic attack of being pinned down, but it doesn’t come. More emotions bud inside of me, and I put all the confusing questions into the back of my mind, deciding to analyze this all later.
For now, I just want to feel.
And I do.
I feel his movements against me as he pushes his pants away.
I feel him shift as he slides his hand up my leg, eliciting small shivers from me because of how overloaded my sensory nerves are.
I feel when he touches parts of me that shouldn’t be so erotic-the bend of my knee, the back of my calf, the top of my foot.
I feel everything, and it all feels perfect.
He starts pushing my shirt up, and I force myself to allow it. He sucks in a breath when he realizes I’m also not wearing a bra. It’s escaped his attention since he’s avoided any groping.
“Damn,” he says under his breath, though it sounds like praise.
He leans back as though he’s going to take it all in. Which gives me a second to fully appreciate him, since he’s down to his black boxers that are straining to keep certain parts of his body restrained.
I’m confident, until his gaze shifts and zeroes in on what I was worried about.
“What happened?” he asks, not sounding overly concerned or nosy, just curious.
He runs his fingers over two of the scars, and I catch his wrist, stopping him. I can’t stand them being touched.
He meets my eyes again, and the concern that was lacking begins to form. He’s too perceptive, so it’d be stupid to give too much away with my expressions.
“Car accident,” I tell him weakly.
It’s a lie, but I’m damn good at lying.
“The same as your parents?” he asks.
If he ever looked into it and found the name I stole, then he’d know that girl was not in the same accident as her parents.
“No. Can we not talk about this right now though?” I ask, my voice teasing now as I slide his hand up to cover my breast.
The heat in his eyes is instantly back, the concern washing away when he sees I’m okay. With slow prowess, he slides down on top of me, and his lips claim mine again.
Nothing else matters in this moment.
We kiss until we’re both grinding against each other, desperate for more. I need zero help getting ready, because I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.
He groans against me before finally lifting away from me again.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says softly, brushing his lips against mine again.
Just that bit of comfort means more than he knows, because I believe it coming from his lips.
When you read people like I do, you learn who’s honest and who isn’t. You learn to smell intentions.
“I don’t want to stop,” I say quietly, refusing to break the spell.
He leans over, grabbing his discarded jeans, and I grin when I hear the familiar rattling sound of a wrapper.
“Just so you know, I’ve had this thing in my wallet for a while. I really didn’t come with expectations-with hopes, yes, but not expectations,” he says, grinning when he sees my smile.
I arch an eyebrow playfully, and he kisses me again, getting readjusted on top of me. His hands move between us as he lifts his hips, and I resist the urge to look down and watch.
It’s sad to say that seeing him roll on a condom would probably send me spiraling into a premature orgasm. It’s surreal. I love this feeling. I want to bottle it and save it for rainy days.
When he leans up, I’m forced to watch, and I squirm as that ache grows more pronounced, more insistent. Fairly sure that ache is named desire.
He’s definitely not a small guy, but he’s also not freakishly endowed. Perfect.
I’m licking my lips before I can stop myself as he starts tugging my panties down. His eyes fall on the bare skin when he removes them completely and he leans down.
The second I feel his breath hit me, my hips jerk up, and I tug his hair, forcing him up my body.