Page 149 of Midnight Curfew

My body fires from the inside out, something building in my head, in my hands, in my mouth…

God. What the fuck is happening?

Pulling up, I stare into his eyes, rolling my hips and meeting his rhythm. I move my hand from his shoulder to his neck and up his jaw, running my thumb over his lips. He closes his eyes, arching his back, his moans getting louder.

His breath shakes, his mouth falling open, and I watch as his orgasm bursts wide open. He bounces faster, and I’m in awe. It’s a minute before I realize I’ve been in a trance, watching him.

What the fuck am I doing?

What are we doing?

I pull out. “On your stomach.”

He blinks, and I push him over. He squeezes the leather armrest in both hands as I fit myself inside him again, thrusting hard.

“Ah, Dallas,” he gasps.

I grab hold of his body again, keeping it in place, and pump hard and fast. This is what he’s for. Revenge.

My dick swells with blood, every nerve in my body feeling it. “Oh, fuck.”

I fist his hair, not looking at the side of his face, those back muscles I love, or the neck I want to kiss. I watch my dick slide in and out of the golden boy of St. Carmen, on the rich leather couch of their precious Ministry office.

“Dallas, fuck,” he grits out.

Sweat glides down my chest. “You want me to stop?”

“Fuck you, Swamp Rat.”

I chuckle. “You like it?”

I see his smile. “Yeah,” he whispers.

I pump harder and faster, my orgasm cresting. Damn right, you do.

I thrust—and then again—the muscles in my dick starting to contract until everything spills. I come, sliding in and out of him slower and slower as the tension releases and I slowly relax.

My muscles are on fire, my body drenched, and the orgasm spreads through the rest of my body. Fuck…

I collapse, my mouth on his neck.

My chest sticks to his back, and he just lies there, too, both of us breathing in unison.

I thread my fingers through his hair, and I grip it lightly, possessively.

We could stay here the rest of the night. If we wanted to. I could fall asleep like this.

I draw in a breath and peel myself off of him, though. I sleep best alone.

“Shower,” I say, standing up.

I dispose of the condom and pull up my pants, heading toward the gym showers.

We wash, him running soap over his body as I rinse out the shampoo in my hair. Every time I look over, though, he’s barely meeting my eyes.

I didn’t hurt him, did I? I look at the floor, suds draining but no blood or anything. I have no problem giving him the black eye he deserves, but I don’t want to hurt him like that.

I just…