Vendetta - Lane Sienna (чтение книг TXT) 📗

He hooks my knee over his arm and lifts it up to secure it on his hip, looking straight into my eyes, using his other hand to guide his cock, teasing my opening and clit in turn until I whimper in frustration. We both suck in a breath as he enters me in one long thrust, and it's a mixture of pleasure and pain and absolute fucking completeness.

I arch my back as he starts moving, controlled thrusts that leave me frantic for more. I squeeze his biceps with my hands as his mouth trails kisses down my neck, his movements becoming faster, harder, until he's just plain fucking me, giving me everything he has and taking everything I have to give.

The first wave hits me so hard I whimper his name, which he drowns with his mouth. I feel my whole body tremble, the pleasure spreading all the way to my toes. I know he’s close when his breathing becoming heavier, his thrusts less controlled and wilder, frenzied. He slams into me once more, and grunts into my hair, his hand pressing into my back, connecting every inch of our bodies. He lifts his head from the hollow of my neck, searching my eyes with his as we both reach that climax, our breaths mingling, our bodies speaking without words.

DEVON

I find myself awake in the middle on the night again, staring at the ceiling. Leighton's back is curled into my side, her breathing even, and my possessive hand is on her waist.

And, as it usually does after I fuck her senseless, guilt eats at me.

I look at her and all I think is failure. Weak. Pathetic.

I know I'm a prick. No one made me do it. I've blamed it on her and her seductive ways, but if I'm honest, she didn't seduce me.

By the time I was seventeen, I could pick her out in a room full of women. The way she walked, the way she laughed, the way she would flip her black hair, her scent. I wouldn't have to think twice about it.

It consumed me, this obsession I had.

I hated every boy, then every man that glanced her way. I hated her boyfriends enough to want to hurt them, and her girlfriends just because they could be around her and not have to ignore her like I did.

I stalked her; I'm not ashamed to admit it. I always knew where she was, and whom she was with, even during her little disappearing acts. More than once, I caught myself looking at her, begging her to acknowledge me, and she always did, holding my gaze for just a second longer than she did other strangers', and for that, I was grateful. The crumbs of her attention I got every now and then were enough to feed my addiction.

Until they weren't. As with every drug, I craved more. It's the forbidden fruit; I know that now. I resisted her for so long, and so stubbornly, and it was bound to happen, one way or another. And when it did, I couldn't get enough of it.

It wasn't premeditated. I don't think she planned on it, either, but I like to think she did to excuse my failure. I saw her standing on the opposite side of the street during one night out. I could say she never looked more beautiful, but she always looked beautiful to me. We made eye contact, and suddenly, time stood still. The look she gave me was so suggestive, I did a double take to make sure I saw it right, then glanced around to check if everyone else saw what I did. By the time my eyes found her again, she was walking off into a dark alley.

Take it or leave it. That's all it came down to.

I found myself all but running after her. Just to make sure she's okay, I fooled myself.

And, in that dark alley, against a dirty brick wall, I knew I was doomed.

It went on, for a whole year. She never sought me out, it was always me running to wherever she was, and she gave whatever I wanted without a word. I didn't speak to her for fear of crumbling the walls of my perfect delusion that we were just two people who found each other in the dark.

Ironically, it was exactly what made me step away from her. A year is a long-ass time to keep silent when all you want to do is talk. It suffocated me, knowing that I couldn't tell her everything I wanted to. I wanted to tell her that every moment she let me spend with her was like heaven. Every time she tangled her hands in my hair and let me touch her in every way I wanted, I felt unworthy of it.

That if she were anyone else, I would have loved her until the day I died.

But she was exactly who she was. Leighton Moore, the daughter of Keith Moore—the man who took everything away from me. And one day, sooner or later, she'd be just another casualty of that crime.

Her fingers entwine with mine on her hip, and she squeezes my hand. “Stop thinking so loud. You woke me up.”

I smile into the black hair draped over her shoulder, then move it away and place a kiss in its place. She snuggles deeper into my chest, her ass pressing into my erection. “Mmm.”

This is a first for us. I've never stayed the night after we hooked up. She never came home with me, and I never went to hers. We never did it in an actual bed.

She trails our threaded fingers down her stomach, then lower between her legs, and I won't lie, the second my fingers reach her wetness and she arches her back into my chest, I'm harder than I've ever been in my entire life.

Her sighs turn into moans as she slides both our fingers inside her and positions my thumb over her clit with hers, my hips jerking involuntarily into her naked backside with her movements as she fucks my fingers.

This is, by far, the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. She is so beautiful, so sensual. I love seeing her in the daylight.

I can feel her control slipping as she writhes, and I'm about to take over when her hand stops mine just as I feel her muscles squeeze around us.

I watch, dumbfounded, as she gets up, squealing when her feet touch the cold floor while she walks across the room, and then she bends down, giving me a majestic view of her ass. If I weren't already hard, that would definitely do the trick. She runs back toward me with my wallet in her hand, already rummaging through it. I laugh at her shaky hands when she tries to rip the condom package open with her slippery fingers.

“Shut up, you ass,” she says, but she smiles too, then rips the package with her teeth, and puts it over my erection.

She straddles my hips, and I watch her, amused, and fucking turned on, as she takes my cock into her hand, gives it a few urgent pumps that make me suck in a sudden breath, and then she guides it to her entrance and sinks down on it.

“Fuck,” I mutter, as my head falls back on the pillow, my palms grabbing for the sheets underneath me. She takes my hands and places them on her hips and then she lifts herself up, ever so slowly, throwing her head back, and sinks back down.

Then she doesn't move.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask her through clenched teeth, trying not to move either, but it's really, really hard.

Pun intended.

“Savoring,” she says, looking at me through her lashes. She leans over, her hair creating a curtain around our heads and kisses a trail from my chin to my lips, and I kiss her back, drowning the moan I expected when I thrust my hips upwards because I'm positive she'd never have moved otherwise.

“Again,” she whispers into my mouth so I do it again, then again when she asks for more, making her bite on my shoulder to keep from calling out. She alternates between moans and sighs every time I sink her down my length. She's holding onto me so tight, clutching onto my shoulders harder with each thrust. I flip us over, capturing her wrists in my hand and stretching her arms above her head, my hips still thrusting, changing rhythm every time I feel like I'm about to explode. My other hand travels up her stomach, over her breast and ends up at her collarbone, my fingers digging into the smooth skin on her neck.