Sweet Filthy Boy (20 page)

“Don’t go
anywhere
,” he growls. “I’ll be there soon to take care of this . . . this
indiscretion
.”

I’VE DRIFTED OFF
waiting for him when the door slams open, the knob hitting the plaster of the wall just on the other side of the bedroom. Startled, I sit up, pushing my little skirt down my legs, rubbing my eyes as Ansel storms into the bedroom.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roars.

I scoot back to the headboard, disoriented and heart pounding as my brain slowly catches up to the adrenaline racing through my bloodstream. “I . . . you told me not to go anywhere.”

He stalks toward me, stopping at the side of the bed and tugging his tie loose with an impatient jerk. “You broke into my
house—
”

“The door was open—”

“—and got onto my
bed
.”

“I . . .” I look up at him, eyes widening. He looks genuinely upset, but then reaches forward, reminding me it’s all a game by gently sweeping his thumb across my bottom lip.

“Mia, you broke about a hundred university rules and several laws tonight. I could have you arrested.”

I push up onto my knees, sliding my hands up his chest. “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

He closes his eyes, moving his fingers to my jaw, down my neck to my bare shoulders. I’m wearing nothing but a short skirt and underwear beneath, and his palms slide over my breasts before he pulls his hands back, forming tight fists.

“You don’t think I notice you in class?” he growls. “Up front, your eyes on me the entire hour, lips so full and red all I can think about is how they would feel on my tongue, my neck, my cock?”

I lick my lips, bite the lower one. “I can show you.”

He hesitates, eyes narrowing. “I’d be fired.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

His conflict feels so genuine: he closes his eyes, jaw tight. When they open again, he leans in and says, “If you think of this as rewarding you for breaking into my house . . .”

“I don’t . . .” But he sees the lie in my face. I’m getting everything I want and my dark smile makes him growl, cup my breasts again with rougher hands.

My skin rises to meet his touch, and inside, my muscles and vital organs twist as if being wrung out, pushing heat down my chest, into my belly where it pools low, down between my legs. I want him so much I feel restless and urgent, this elemental need clawing in my throat. I dig my hands into his hair, holding him to me and barely letting him move a breath away from my skin.

But it’s all a ruse. He pulls free of my grip easily, leaning back to look at me with convincing fire in his eyes.

“I had a lot of work on my desk when you called with your little show earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Being near him makes me liquid, my insides slithering and molten.

His eyes flutter closed, nostrils flaring. “What do you think it did to my concentration, knowing you’re here thinking of me, touching skin that could be mine to touch?”

With his eyes anchoring mine, and to make his point, he slides a rough hand into my underwear, two fingers searching, dipping inside and finding me soaked. “Who made you this wet?”

I don’t answer. I close my eyes, pushing into his hand before reaching to grip his wrist and fuck his fingers if he won’t move. I’m on fire, everywhere and especially here, drowning with a clawing need to come, for him to make me come.

With a jerk of his arm he pulls his fingers from me and reaches to push them into my mouth, pressing my taste onto my tongue. His hand grips my jaw, fingers curled into the hollow of my cheeks to hold my mouth open.

“Who. Made you. Wet.”

“You,” I manage around his intrusive fingers and he pulls back, plucking at my bottom lip with an index finger, a thumb. “I thought about you all day. Not just when I called.” I stare into his eyes, so full of anger and lust it takes my breath away. They soften as I continue to hold his gaze, and I can feel both of us stutter in our roles. I want to melt into him, feel his warm weight over me. “I think about you all day long.”

He can see the truth in my expression and his eyes drop to my lips, his hands spread gently across my sides. “You do?”

“And I don’t care about the rules,” I tell him. “Or that you have a lot of work. I want you to ignore it.”

His jaw tenses.

I say, “I want
you
. The semester will be over soon.”

“Mia . . .” I can see the conflict in his eyes, and does he feel it, too? This longing so enormous it shoves everything else inside my chest into a tight corner?
Our
time together is almost over, too. How can I possibly be away from him in only a couple of weeks?

What are we going to do?

My heart turns, pounding so hard it’s no longer a safe rhythm. It’s cymbals crashing and the deep heavy pulse of the bass drum. It is thrashing beneath my ribs. I know what this feeling is. He needs to know.

But is it too soon? I’ve been here barely a month. “Ansel . . . I—”

His lips crash over mine, tongue pushing my mouth open, tasting, rolling up against my teeth. I press up, hungry for the flavor of him, of man and ocean and heat.

“Don’t say it,” he says into my mouth, somehow knowing I was going to put something sincere and intense out there. Pulling back, he searches my eyes frantically, pleading. “I can’t play rough if you say that tonight.
D’accord?
”

I nod urgently and his pupils dilate, a drop of ink into the green and I can actually see his pulse pick up.

He’s mine. He is.

But for how long? The intruding question makes me desperate, reaching for him and needing him deep in every part of me, knowing he can’t really take my breath away but offering it up anyway in tiny, constant bursts.

He steps closer, and although his grip on my hair doesn’t lessen, I greedily reach for his shirt, tugging it free of his pants. With shaking fingers, I work each button free and once his smooth, warm torso is exposed, I hear my fevered moan and my hands slide up across his skin, frantic. How would it feel, I imagine, to want him as much as I do and not have access? And then just tonight—a single, dangerous night—he lets me touch him, taste him, fuck him?

I would be
wild
. I would be insatiable.

He growls when I spend too long running my hands up and over his chest, fingernails scratching across his small, flat nipples, stroking the teasing line of hair leading down below his belly button and into his pants. Impatiently, he tugs at my hair, pushing his hips forward, and grunts his approval when I quickly unfasten his belt, his zipper, and shove his pants down his thighs so I can free his cock.

Oh.

It juts in front of me thick and warm; when I reach for him, he’s steel in my palm. I use both hands, gripping and sliding down his length, wanting him to let go of my hair so I can bend and suck on him with as much hunger as I feel.

He exhales a tight groan as I pump him in my fist and then curls down, capturing my mouth in a brutal, commanding kiss. His mouth sucks at mine, pushing my lips apart as his fist tightens in my hair. He slides his tongue inside, pushing deep, fucking me with an unmistakable rhythm.

I won’t be gentle,
he’s telling me.
I won’t even try.

Thrill ripples through me and I twist free of his grip, intending to lick him until he comes, but with a growled curse he pushes me back on the bed, bending to retrieve his tie so he can wrap it around my wrists and secure it to the headboard.

“Your body is for my pleasure,” he tells me, eyes dark. “You’re in my house, little thing. I’ll take whatever I want.”

He kicks off his pants and climbs over me, yanking my underwear down my legs and shoving my skirt up my hips. With his hands flat on my thighs, he spreads my legs, leans forward, and roughly thrusts into me.

It’s a relief so enormous it makes me scream; I’ve never before felt so full of him. I’m starving and satisfied, wanting him to stay just like this forever. But he doesn’t stay deep inside me for long. He pulls back and then slams forward, gripping the headboard for leverage and taking me so roughly each thrust makes my teeth clatter, forces air from my lungs.

It’s wild, and frantic, his body over mine, my legs clamped around his waist so tight I wonder if it hurts him. I
want
to hurt him, in a sick dark way I want to pull every sensation to the surface, make him feel everything all at once: the lust and pain and need and relief and, yes, even the love I’m feeling.

“I wanted to get things done tonight,” he hisses, hands clamping around my thighs. He pumps hard and fast, fucking me so roughly, sweat trickles off his temple and lands on my chest. His anger is terrifying, thrilling, perfect. “Instead I need to come home and deal with a naughty student.” His hips are pounding and pounding into me and he groans, eyes growing heavy. His large, rough hands reach for my breasts, and he slides his thumb across my nipple.

“Please make me come,” I whisper, honestly.

I want to stop playing.

I want to play forever.

I want his approval, I want his anger. I want the sharp smack of his hand across my breast only seconds before he delivers it.
He knew.

“Please,” I beg. “I’ll be good.”

“Bad pupils don’t get pleasure. I’ll take and take and you can watch me instead.”

He’s moving so hard the bed is shaking, groaning beneath us. We’ve never been so rough. The neighbors must hear, and I close my eyes, relishing the knowledge that my husband is so completely cared for in bed. I’ll give him anything.

“Watch me come,” he whispers, jerking from me and gripping his cock. His hand flies down and up his length and he curses, eyes on me.

The first pulse of his release lashes me across my cheek, and then my neck, my breasts. I’ll never be able to imagine a sexier sound than the deep groan he makes when he comes, the way he growls my name, the way he stares at me. He bends, sweaty and out of breath; his eyes move over my face and down, inspecting how he’s decorated me. Climbing up my body so his hips are level with my face, he presses his cock to my lips, quietly ordering, “Lick it clean.”

I open my mouth and lick around the tip, and then suck down, along the velvet-soft skin.

“Ansel,” I whisper when I pull away, wanting to be us now. Wanting him.

Relief fills his eyes and he runs his finger across my lower lip. “You like this,” he murmurs. “Pleasing me.”

“Yes.”

He pulls away, bending to kiss my forehead as he carefully unties my hands.
“Attends,”
he whispers.
Wait.

Ansel comes back with a damp cloth, wiping my cheek, my neck, my breasts. He tosses it into the bin in the corner before kissing me gently.

“Was that nice,
Cerise
?” he whispers, sucking on my lower lip, tongue probing gently into my mouth. He moans quietly, fingers dancing over the curve of my breast. “You were perfect. I love being with you that way.” His mouth moves over my cheek, to my ear, and he asks, “But can I be gentle now?”

I nod, cupping his face. He wrecks me with his play, with his command that so easily melts into adoration. I close my eyes, sinking my hands into his hair as he kisses down my neck, sucking my breasts, my navel, parting my legs with his hands.

I’m sore from his rough treatment only minutes ago, but he’s careful now, blowing a soft stream of air across me, whispering, “Let me see you.”

Ducking, he kisses my clit, licks slowly around. “I love to taste you, do you notice?”

I curl my hands into fists around the pillowcase.

“I think this sweetness is just for me. I pretend your desire has never been like this.” He dips a finger inside and brings it up to my lips. “For everyone else it was never so silky and sweet. Tell me it’s true.”

I let him slide his finger inside and suck, wanting to make this night last for days. I’m wild for him, hoping he stays here with me. Hoping he doesn’t retreat to the office and work until dawn.

“Isn’t it perfect?” he asks, watching me suck. “I’ve never loved a woman’s flavor as much as I love yours.” He climbs up my body, sucking at my lips, my tongue. He’s hard again, or maybe he’s hard still, and he grinds into my thigh. “I crave it. I crave you. I’m too wild for you. I want you too much, I think.”

I shake my head, wanting to tell him he could want me more and wilder but the words get stuck in my throat when he returns his lips to my pussy, licking and sucking so expertly now that I arch off the bed, crying out.

“Like this?” he purrs.

“Yes.”
My hips press up from the mattress, greedy for his fingers, too.

“I’d be your slave,” he whispers, sliding two fingers into me. “Give me nothing but this and your mouth and your quiet words and I’d be your slave,
Cerise
.”

I don’t know how it happened, or when exactly, but he knows how to read my body, knows my tells. He teases me, pulling each sensation longer and tighter, making me wait for the orgasm I’ve wanted for what begins to feel like days. With his tongue, and his lips, his fingers, and his words he brings me to the edge over and over until I’m writhing beneath him, sweating, begging for it.

And just when I think he’ll finally let me come, he pulls away instead, wiping his mouth with his forearm as he climbs over me.

I push up onto my elbows, eyes wild.
“Ansel—”

“Shh, I need to be inside when you come.” With quick hands, he rolls me onto my stomach, spreads my legs, and slides in so deep I gasp, bunching the pillowcase in my fists. His groan vibrates through my bones, along my skin, and I feel the continued buzz of it as he begins to move, his chest pressed to my back, breath hot on my ear.

“I’m lost in you.”

I gasp, nodding frantically. “Me, too.”

His hand slides underneath me and presses, circling against my clit. I’m right there

right there

right there

and I go off like a bomb the second he presses his lips to my ear and whispers, “What you feel,
Cerise
? I feel it, too. Fuck, Mia, I feel
every
thing for you.”