I reach out to swipe the bead of sweat that’s about to drip off his chin, but he hits my hand away. “Don’t.”
“What?” I murmur.
“Not now.”
He pins my hands above my head, his palms gliding up my thighs until he gets to the waistband of my sweatpants then tugs them off. His fingertips glide over the lining of my underwear before slipping underneath to press inside me.
“Get up.”
“What?” I whisper, confused. He gets to his knees just as “Escalate” by Tsar B starts blasting from Nate’s room. The song has a heavy bass line, and it sounds so clear that it’s as if it’s playing in here.
Bishop pulls down his jeans, getting to his feet at the side of the bed and tossing off his boxer briefs. I stare down at his cock and watch as he slowly pumps it, his eyes locked on mine. Grinning, he nudges his head. “Get up, baby.”
Crawling, I tilt my head. “But why?”
“Because you’re going to do what I say.”
“Bu—”
His hand flies up to my neck, and he instantly squeezes, tugging my head up to look at him. His shoulders are square, his stance stiff, strong, and thick like always. This is Bishop, and always will be Bishop. He’s alpha out there; he has to be because of who he is. But in the bedroom, his alpha tendencies have no bounds. The song must be on repeat because it plays again.
I close my eyes, nodding. “What do you want me to do?”
His grip loosens and he steps backward, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the chest of drawers, the moonlight sneaking through the cracks of my patio door, outlining him perfectly. His face, his profile, that body, that… dick. He’s perfection wrapped in a case of C4. He puts a cigarette between his lips, flicks his Zippo, and looks at me after lighting it, a grin on his face. Sucking on his cigarette, he tilts his head back to blow out the smoke, his neck straining at the movement. I look down at his hand, still holding his dick, slowly pumping it, and my mouth waters. Holy shit. I’ve never seen something so erotic in my life. Sweat beads on my flesh as my clit throbs between my thighs. I want him.
Fuck. I want him. The way my nipples feel, as though they’re getting whisked with the breeze, and the way my hips start rolling to the rhythm of his pumping, tells him how badly. He chuckles, leaving the cigarette between his lips, and walks toward me. His legs hit the side of the bed, and he takes the smoke out of his mouth.
I look up at him, my hands running up his muscular thighs. Pulling in my bottom lip, I run my tongue over it and reach for his cock.
Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he looks down at me, our eyes entranced in each other. Locked in a cell that’s sealed with lust. “Suck.” His lip curls slightly, the grin still on his face and his smoke between his thumb and pointer finger.
I look down to the tip of him, licking my lips again, and lean forward, wrapping my mouth around him securely. His precum hits the back of my throat, and I moan slightly, my tongue dancing up his long length. He grips onto my hair, piling it all on the top of my head then tugs on it, yanking my head backward. Again, I’m thanking whoever it was that saved me that day for the bullet skimming the side of my temple, and not anywhere near where any hair pulling happens.
I look up at him, my lips wrapped around him while my head bobs. He sucks on the last bit of his smoke, then turns toward the porch door and flicks it out before turning back to me and shoving me onto the bed. “Lay down.”
“Like I have a choice.” I roll my eyes.
He pins my hands above my head, spreading my legs wide open with his, and runs his nose down the side of my neck. “Mmm,” he groans, and it vibrates over my flesh before sinking into my bones. I quiver, goose bumps rolling over my skin. His grin presses against my flesh before I feel his tongue slide down my collarbone then down over my nipple. Pulling it into his mouth, he bites down roughly, and I wince.
“Bishop,” I warn, remembering how rough he can get.
“Not your place to say, Kitty. Remember that.”
“Safe word.”
“And I said fuck your safe word.” As he circles my nipple with his tongue, my eyes close and my hips rise to grind against his, needing more. More friction. Needing him inside of me, filling me until I can barely take the pain of his size.
“How will you know if it’s too far for me?” I ask, circling my pelvis into him. He raises slightly, not letting me gain any more friction or pleasure, and I have to fight just putting my hand down there and taking care of the ache myself.
He continues his travels, leaving a warm trail of goose bumps in his wake. “Guess if you die, that’s a sign.”
My eyes snap open and I lean up on my elbows. “Bishop!”
He peers up at me, hovering just over my pelvic bone, his arms rippling from holding himself up. He grins, his eyes darkening. “I’m just joking.” His tongue comes out and licks over my clit. “I think.” Letting go, I drop onto my back, my hair sprawling out everywhere. He grips onto my thigh and pushes me open wider, while his other arm hooks my thigh over his shoulder. He licks me at a perfect rhythm, never stopping, never changing. Never too fast and never too slow. Just as my stomach clenches and sweat trickles over my abs, I’m grasping onto the edge of sanity, about to fall off into my orgasm, when he stops. Everything turns cold, my entire body dropping to
