Page 50 of Fletch
He sighs heavily, like I’m suddenly a huge pain in his side, before taking my arms and pulling me a little closer so the bag is trapped between our bodies. “Better?” he spits, and my heart aches.
Next, we stop at a car sales garage. A man steps out the office dressed casually. He doesn’t look like a salesman, which instantly relaxes me. He shakes hands with Fletch, looking genuinely pleased to see him. “This is Gemma,” says Fletch without looking my way. “She needs a reliable car, and I know you’ll look after her.”
“Of course, brother.”
Fletch waits by the office, staring down at his mobile phone, and the salesman smiles. “I’m Darren.”
“Hi,” I mutter, unable to hide the hurt in my voice. Suddenly, I’m less excited about buying a car. I don’t like the way I feel when Fletch is being so cold and distant because it shouldn’t bother me nearly as much as it does.
Darren proceeds to show me around his showroom of shiny cars. He doesn’t push me on any but talks about the pros and cons of the ones I like. I finally settle on an Audi, and when I glance back to ask Fletch’s opinion, I see he’s talking on his phone. “I’ll just take it,” I mutter, offering a weak smile.
“I’ll sort the paperwork.”
When I finally step back out the office, Fletch is waiting for me on his bike. The car needs to be registered, so I’ve got to collect it tomorrow. “Done?” he asks.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Let me drop this at the gym and I’ll take you home.”
“I can walk,” I say, not wanting to be in his cold presence for a second longer.
“Get on the fucking bike, Gemma.” It’s the first time he’s been so stern with me that, for a second, I hesitate. “Now.”
We stop by the gym, and again, he rushes inside to dump his bag. Then he drives to my place and gets off the bike after me. He follows me up the path, and while I unlock the door, I think of excuses to deter him from coming inside, but when I turn to tell him, he grabs me by the throat and pushes me backwards into the house. It’s not aggressive but commanding, and I’m instantly weak at the knees as his mouth clashes with mine in a hungry, claiming kiss.
He rips my shirt open, tugging it from my arms and discarding it on the floor. He kicks my legs apart and his hand rubs between my legs. Even through my leggings, it’s effective, and I cling to his shoulders as he rubs faster. He slams me against the wall and crouches in front of me, gripping the material between my legs and pulling it hard enough to rip a hole there. I gasp as he moves my underwear to one side and presses his mouth to my pussy, hungrily licking me.
“Jesus, Fletch,” I cry, pressing my hands to his head to hold him closer. It all feels so rushed and desperate, yet I can’t stop the excitement it’s evoking from me. I come hard, crying out while he eats my pussy with a starved hunger.
Before I’m fully recovered, he stands, and I watch through hooded eyes as he sheathes his erection with a condom and pushes it to my wet entrance. He slams into me with a grunt, leaning down to take my bra-covered breast into his mouth. He soaks the material with his tongue, gently biting on my erect nipple.
He lifts me and carries me through to the lounge. The curtains are open, and for a second, I worry someone passing will see us, but he forces me towards the window regardless and withdraws from me. He turns me to look outside, placing my hands on the windowsill. “Fletch,” I murmur, about to protest, but he stuffs his erection back into me without warning and begins a punishing onslaught which consumes my entire being, making sure any protests die on my lips.
“You like the fucking power,” he hisses, grabbing a handful of my hair and tipping my head back. “You like watching me squirm?”
My words won’t come. He’s fucking me too hard and too fast. All I can think about is the orgasm about to rip through me again. I feel his hands in the wetness between my legs, and then his finger is pressing at my tight backside. I fidget, getting distracted from my end goal but determined to stop him exploring there. He bats my hand away, continuing to press his finger to the tight hole. “Fletch,” I whisper, resting my head on my arm.
“I’m in control,” he hisses, and I cry out as the digit slips into me, causing an uncomfortable pain.
The front door opens and closes, and I freeze, my impending orgasm ebbing away. “Surprise,” whispers Fletch, still chasing his own release as he slams into me.
Nyx leans in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like I’m just in time.”
I feel the blush spread from my neck to my cheeks, but as Fletch continues to fuck me, I can’t find the words to stop any of this.
Twelve
Fletch
Idon’t stop fucking Gemma. Nyx shrugs from his kutte, his eyes fixed on us. I move us away from the window and drag her onto the couch, pulling her to sit over me. I grip her hips and move her, forcing her to ride me. She looks unsure, but I need to distract her while Nyx sorts out the recording device, so I pull her in for a kiss. He slips it between two books on the shelf and drops down on the chair opposite us.
I was so fucking angry, I’d called Nyx and arranged for him to turn up here. But fucking her like this feels wrong, and as she rides my cock with that uncertain mistrusting glint, I realise I can’t look her in the eyes, so I grab her by the hair again and tip her head back. I catch Nyx’s glare and give him the nod. He stands and slowly heads our way while popping the button on his jeans. I bite gently on her exposed nipple, and she shudders. Nyx runs his hands over her shoulders, sliding them around to her breasts. I release her hair, and she stares at me with eyes now full of lust as he teases her nipples between his thumb and finger.
I stare at his fingers working her into a frenzy and fight the urge to stop this whole thing. His hand travels down her front, stopping on her clit. She cries out, closing her eyes but moving faster to chase her release. When his fingers are wet enough, he takes them to her backside, and she tenses. “Darlin’, you gotta relax,” he whispers in her ear.
I feel my cock soften. Knowing he’s touching her is too much, and I grip her hips, stilling her. Her eyes shoot open, and she stares at me with worry. I don’t bother to speak. I lift her from me and rest my head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring Nyx as he drops to his knees, no doubt wanting to taste her . . . to taste what’s mine.
I ball my fists and count in my head to calm myself. I have to do this. The club is depending on me. “Stop,” I hear her say, and it takes a second to register. “I just need . . . it’s all going so fast.”