Page 66 of Crush
“I won’t.” I’m too far gone. “I want to finish.”
My breaths come out shorter, panting, bringing myself to the precipice with the full knowledge that Thorne sees everything.
On a pained growl, Thorne pulls his dick from his pants, an impressive shaft that bounces against his stomach before being gripped in his hand. He starts pumping, his stare drilling into my center, watching the shine of my juices coat my bare pussy. Thorne must know it’s swollen for him and not my fingers.
“Dammit—” He grits out, his head falling back. Thorne tips it forward just as fast, not wanting to miss a second of this show.
I push into my neck, choking at the same time my thighs tighten. My stomach swirls, and my core pulses with want.
His teeth catch his lower lip as if he’s on the verge of cursing.
My vision comes in and out, my lungs begging for me to stop, but my pounding heart insists I go on, pushing myself to the brink and finding the pleasure between life and death.
I’m dressed as the devil, watched by the devil, surrounded by death.
I’m getting off on a pyre.
Whispering his name as nothing but a tremble on my lips, I feel the world tilt, my body spiral, and my fingers plunge, taking and wanting, my gasps turning to chokes, then sputters.
Thorne groans nearby, but I’m too far gone to see it, standing on one foot while the world spins on its axis, and I succumb to…
He catches me before I hit the ground.
Hitching in breaths, I darting my focus all around, and my hand falls from my neck as he lifts me back into a stand. “Oh my—I can’t…”
I expect his hands to come down on my shoulders, to tell me to breathe, that it’s all right.
Thorne’s fingers curl into my biceps. And on a snarl, he rips Malcolm’s blazer off my shoulders, trapping my arms, then spins me until my face mashes against the bookshelf and my ass is exposed.
His palm presses into the back of my head, keeping me in place while his fingers tangle into my hair, yanking until it hurts.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of blurting out his name in fear. I’m too sated by what I’ve done, my thighs jelly.
Thorne doesn’t wait for my recovery, either. I feel his dick settle lengthwise between my cheeks, stroking and pumping upward at a furious pace. He grunts behind me, a chilling sound as he gains control over my body where I once was so independent.
Thorne’s thrusts become faster, the friction painful. My ass cheeks clench in defense, but that only manages to give him a tighter, warmer place to come.
“Th—” I can’t believe I’m about to plead with him. But the monster behind me is truly scary—one I prodded to life.
He changes angle, lowering his dick until the tip tests my opening.
Is this it? Is this how I’m about to lose my virginity?
My heart and my brain work in tandem now, conjuring defenses, adrenaline shooting into my limbs and urging me to fight him off in every way I know how.
I’m about to do it—this isn’t how I want to have sex for the first time, regardless of how fucked up I’ve become and the obsessive way I think about Thorne—until he slides over my folds, collecting the slickness and coating his shaft.
Thorne uses his legs to push mine closer together, offering him more friction and constraint as he pumps against me, but not inside me.
His hand closes over my throat.
The area’s swollen from all the pressure. In an instant, my air’s cut off.
“If you’re gonna come,” he breathes into my ear, “you do it with me. Not for yourself. Not for other men. Me alone.”
He uses his other hand to reach around, finding my sensitive clit, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.
I moan, but it doesn’t reach my mouth. Silent coughs wrack my chest. The pure need for survival makes me fight against the blazer’s restraints, asking him to release me. Tapping out. Silently communicating that this is too much, even for me.