Suit - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 28

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“Did you miss this? Can’t wait any longer? Is that what this is about?” Paxton asked in a quiet tone, eyes narrowed while he strolled toward me. Toward me and my pounding heart, my dry mouth, and my overactive sex drive. Jesus. I truly was a glorified whore.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

He quieted me with a warning look, one that I could easily detect in his green eyes. “I think you know exactly what I am talking about. I think you’re being defiant because you know. You know because this is all an act. Most of it.”

Of course I didn’t speak. Not that I could have, had I tried. Paxton did things to me. Things I couldn’t explain. My body reacted to him like—like danger. A thrill seeker. That’s how I felt around him. Like jumping out of a plane. The ecstasy of it overpowering the danger.

Breathe…

Breathe…

Breathe.

I literally had to remind myself of that mundane task, truly worrying I might die if I didn’t. My eyes moved to his hands. He tugged the tail of my red shirt from my shorts. I reminded myself to breathe again. It was the look. The expression on his face. The instant bulge in his jeans. It was the lust. That’s the thrill I chased. Lust. Pure lust.

The jingle of the buckle on my belt came next. Paxton took his time, sliding the strap out. He took just as much time sliding the zipper down. The scrape and grind of the metal echoed in the room. He dropped to his knees and tugged on my shorts. He slid them over my hips with a slight struggle, wearing the same lustful expression. My knees trembled and my hands gripped harder, white knuckling the countertop for support.

“Turn around,” Paxton ordered in the most sexy, sultry tone I’d ever heard, or could remember.

I almost couldn’t handle it. He was right—I was a slut. Hands down. I was a slut, and I could think of no other way to put it. I wanted this. I wanted him to spank me. Why? What the hell was wrong with me? I wanted this?

My breath became trapped in my lungs when his hand moved to my bare ass. A faint whimper slipped between my lips as he fisted my powder-blue, lacy thong and lifted. I wasn’t expecting his next maneuver at all—his hand slapped hard on my right ass cheek. Another whimper escaped my tight lips, this one sounding more erotic. The thin strap in the crevice of my buttocks was plucked again like a violin string, followed by another sharp slap. I didn’t know what it was—the amplified sound, the way our eyes kept meeting in the mirror, the mystified yet lustful way he stared back, or what, but it had moved up a notch to phenomenal. Here I was at the hands of monster and I liked it. I loved it, in fact, and I wanted more. Even the stinging on my ass stung with electrical jolts. He had turned me into a thrill-seeking slut. A Paxton addict.

“Does that make you wet, Gabriella? Hmm?” Crack! Another blow in the exact same place. “You like it when I bend you over like this, don’t you, Gabriella?”

I didn’t answer with words. Not because I wasn’t able, but because I didn’t know if I was allowed. Just because Paxton asked a question didn’t mean I could answer. Especially when he had me in this positon. Under his control.

He peeled the lacy strap from between the crease of my rump, intensifying my arousal. Another slap stung on top of stinging. Seven was the lucky number. My ass burned, and I loved it. After the last sting to my ass, he placed his hand over it, calming the burn with soothing, caressing pleasure.

My world spun out of control; my body longed for more.

Paxton pulled me to his chest, pumping his hardness into my tingling ass. He looked at me in the mirror, but not really at me. Not my eyes, anyway. He seemed to be avoiding them intentionally. It didn’t much matter, though, because I didn’t look at him, either. I couldn’t. His hand reached around and slid through my pulsating slit. My head dropped back to his chest, my eyes closed, and I moaned. One lustful, erotic whimper.

“Jesus Christ, Gabriella,” Paxton exclaimed.

I didn’t respond to that, either. Not even an opened eye. I kept both of them closed, praying to God almighty not to let him stop. I couldn’t take much more and he knew it. God and Paxton.

“You want to come, baby?”

“Please,” I begged through a moan. It wouldn’t have taken much more. Two minutes of attention to my throbbing nub. That’s it. Was that asking too much? Not in my book. Paxton’s, yes.

He stopped. The bastard stopped. “Get ready, we need to go. Don’t fuck up. The ball field isn’t far from here. I can have you back here in five minutes.”

With one more run through my crazy-mad slit, he retreated.

“You sure?” I questioned as I stepped over that line, the one I knew I would be crossing before I said it. My hand did what his did. I reached around and stroked an erection harder than steel. Our eyes did meet in the mirror that time. His had a taken-aback gleam. Mine begged for more, full of desire.

Paxton didn’t stop me. Not at first. His eyes closed and his hips thrust into my hand. Jesus, he was hard.

“Fuck, Gabriella,” he said with raspy words into my hair.

“Put it in me, Pax,” I pleaded while paying special attention to his bulging head, hiding behind his jeans.

The pain in my ankle shot to my knee, and then my hip when I found myself on my knees, right in front of him. It was quick. Lightning fast. Paxton spun me, jerking me to my knees by my hair. He released his cock and had it in my mouth faster than I could blink.

That was quick, too. I swear it didn’t take thirty seconds. Paxton held my head, darting in and out of my mouth. Quick and deep. Clear down my throat.

“Aahh,” he called shortly after. One finger slid in the corner of my mouth, his hips stabilized at the end of a thrust, and he pumped hard with his hand. I was instantly pissed. I’m not even sure I tasted him at all.

“Mom, Rowan spilled her orange juice on the floor,” Ophelia called from the door. “Mom?” she said again, sounding more like a question.

Paxton brushed a lose strand of hair from my forehead and smiled down at me. “Don’t call me Pax. Go clean up the juice. I’m going to run back to the work garage for a minute. Get ready.”

He did take my hands and help me to my feet. He kissed my neck while he repositioned the string in my ass. One hard pull. I started to speak, to protest his stupid, one-sided ways. A shhhh and his lips stopped me.

The urge to call him a dick was so strong. Right on the tip of my tongue. Afraid that he really would make me miss the game stopped me. I hated him. Paxton Pierce was nothing but a low-life prick.

Not getting a response from me, Ophelia yelled for her dad next. I pulled my shorts up and tucked in my shirt just as he opened the door. The dry swallow stuck in my throat while I watched him scoop her up, tossing her into the air.

Who the hell was this guy? Who did he think he was? I messed with my hair, fixing it while trying like hell to stop thinking about it. Pretend the vivacious ache wasn’t there, that I wasn’t ready to explode. I couldn’t do it. I needed relief. My fingers were already on the snap of my shorts as I walked to the door. I closed it, turned the little lock, and leaned against it.

A long, deep breath filled my lungs when my fingers found the source of the problem. The buildup was ridiculous, and just like Paxton, I was freed within a few seconds. My fingers rubbed circles around my slippery-wet clit, and the energetic pulse multiplied. Tenfold.

After going to the bathroom, mostly to soak up the arousal, I walked out. Back to the family I didn’t know, but feeling much better.

Ophelia was seated on the island and Paxton stood right in front of her, tying white sneakers. He lifted her to the floor and my heart skipped a beat. Her little white baseball pants with the blue shirt was too darn cute. She was adorable. I smiled after her, reading the back of her shirt. Pierce Pools and Lawn Care. Building your dreams. Creating your reality. His website scrawled just below the number three. I guessed Rowan won the number five.

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