My hair was too short for him to twine it round his fingers like I did when my hands were in his hair, but I still flinched as if he’d pulled my head back, and he leaned over me to whisper, “Then I’d be able to kiss you, and no-one would hear the sounds you made because you’d be too busy kissing me back.”
“Fuck, you could…” I panted, counted to ten in my head to make myself hold off. The angle he was at now, the hand on the back of my neck, every shallow thrust made me want to cry out, and he hadn’t even touched me yet. I hadn’t touched myself. “You could make me…”
“Not yet.” There was laughter in his voice, and I hated him for it. I hated his smug self-control and the power he had over me. “I want you lying on your side.”
“Jesus, can’t you stay in one position for long? I just get used to one and—”
“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly why. I like to play around with you.”
I had to clench my jaw against a grunt of discomfort at the way he moved but somehow he stayed inside me. My torso hit the mattress, knocking the breath out of me and as soon as I managed to inhale again, Steven’s hand on my hip pulled me over. “Fuck, this is twisted,” I breathed, not trusting myself to attempt anything above a whisper. “You’ll break my spine.”
“What a way to go. Fucked to death by Steven Kenton.”
“I could think of worse—” Somehow I stifled the groan, setting my jaw against it, and it settled in my throat, attaching itself to my windpipe and swelling every so often like a ball of nerves.
“You mean you actually like this?” Steven asked, sliding his hand over my hipbone, rocking me back onto him. The curve of his hand perfectly moulded itself to the curve of my waist and I nearly begged him to touch my cock. “This?” But he did it himself and I whimpered, helpless. “I knew you would.” His hand tightened; my eyes watered. “Come on, Kit. Say something.”
“I…” Propping myself up on one elbow while he settled himself inside me, behind me, against me, took too much energy. I flopped back down again and the sudden movement jerked both of us, joined together as we were.
“God, Kit, you’ve got no idea what I…” Steven eased himself in deeper, and his hand on my cock tightened. “Since…I knew you’d…”
“What?” I didn’t and didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Asked anyway.
“Since my first day here. I wondered what you’d feel like.”
“And now you know,” I whispered. “But this isn’t the first time you’ve fucked me.”
“No.” He lowered himself, leaned in to my shoulder and kissed it lightly, in between breaths. “Feels like it though.”
Steven barely moved inside me but his hand tightened around my cock, sped up at exactly the right moments when I needed it to. One of my hands lifted away from grasping at the bedclothes but didn’t know where to come to rest. His hand? No—I might have disturbed him and he already had me right where he wanted me. His hip? Our limbs would become even more entangled than they were already. We’d have no room to move in this already-awkward position.
His breaths, desperate, shallow gasps for air, broke into my consciousness and somehow I reached back and got my fingers tangled in his curls to pull him closer. I couldn’t kiss him as comfortably as I usually would—Christ, we were like two interlocking pretzels, all arms and legs and perspiration and the way the palm of his hand moved along the underside of my cock nearly stopped my breath. Any time our lips made passing contact, his hips moving against my back shuddered them apart again.
“This has got to be the most awkward…” Every pause was a gasp for breath I prayed I’d remain able to keep silent.
“Worth it though.” Steven’s lips curved against my jaw and I felt him smile.
“Means…oh God, Kit, you’ll…”
“What?” But I knew. And couldn’t hold off. I just wanted to hear him say it before I lost it, myself.
“Gonna come. I can’t—”
“Then do it. Just. Fucking—” My orgasm, though it had been building, still managed to surprise me with its power to arch my spine and cut off my words. Steven’s last thrust inside me arrested his breath. He froze, still holding on to me and after a second his ability to breathe returned, shallow, near-hoarse and rapid.
“Fuck.” He dipped his head against the back of mine and the way his shoulders shook, anyone else might have thought he sobbed against my hair, but all I felt were hot breaths against my neck, not tears. “That was…”
“Yeah.” It was all I trusted myself to say. That, and a whispered, “It was,” in agreement with words he hadn’t yet uttered.
“No.” Tangled, sweaty curls tickled my shoulder as he shook his head. “I meant something else.”
The seriousness in his voice slowed my heart from its post-orgasmic tattoo right down to flatline status.
“That was the last time you ever turn your back on me.”
Chapter Eleven
Even saying it would have been possible to cut the atmosphere with a knife wasn’t a strong enough phrase. A flamethrower wouldn’t have been able to melt the ice in every glance Steven deigned to shoot my way, reminding me of that other cliché—if looks could kill.
It was only a cliché because it was in common use, and no less true for that.
I was almost glad that those looks came infrequently. Only when unavoidable. We’d pass on the stairs and he’d back up against the opposite wall like even brushing auras was abhorrent to him. The first couple of times it happened
