Around The Corner 2

I wasn't planning on staying long.

The smell of overcooked burgers and cheap beer hanging in the air, the tinny sound of bad music blaring from someone's battered speaker--it all made me want to roll my eyes and leave.

And then I saw him.

Leaning lazy against the fence, like he owned the place. T-shirt stretched across a chest that looked hard enough to bruise, jeans slung low on his hips, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer, the other shoved into his pocket like he didn't have a care in the world.

And those eyes.

God, those fucking eyes--dark, amused, already undressing me without shame.

I didn't even think.

I tilted my head, let my mouth curve into something slow and wicked, and I saw the way his body tightened like a coil ready to snap.

It only took a few steps.

A few murmured words no one else would catch.

And then we were slipping away -- down the side of the house, through the gap in the fence, into the kind of thick summer darkness that begged for bad decisions.

He caught my wrist when we were out of sight, spun me to face him, and for a second, we just stared.

Both breathing harder than we should've been.

Both knowing.

I let my fingers trail up his chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric.

His hand moved to my hip, rough and greedy, pulling me flush against him.

I could feel him already -- the thick, hot shape of him straining in his jeans -- and it made my stomach clench, my thighs press together like I could trap the ache building inside me.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

I smiled.

You have no idea.

Without breaking eye contact, I took his hand and dragged it under the hem of my dress.

He hesitated for half a second--then his fingers found me.

Just the softest slide across the damp silk of my panties.

A slow, lazy drag over my clit that made my head fall back against the rough siding of the house.

"Jesus," he breathed, voice raw.

I just laughed, low and dangerous, grinding against his hand until I could feel my pulse thudding against his fingertips.

He slipped under the thin barrier, skin on skin, and I sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers stroked over me--slick, swollen, needy.

He circled my clit once, twice, so gentle it was almost cruel.

Teasing me. Making me twitch and gasp against him.

I grabbed the front of his shirt, fisted it tight, and pulled him down to kiss me.

Hard.

Filthy.

Teeth clashing, tongues tangling, nothing sweet about it.

His fingers worked between my thighs while I devoured his mouth, rocking against him helplessly, shamelessly.

I didn't care if anyone heard.

I didn't care if the whole fucking block watched.

I wanted him.

I wanted to take him apart.

He slipped one thick finger inside me, then another, stretching me slow, crooking just right to make my knees buckle.

I moaned into his mouth, half-crazed already, grinding down against his hand like a woman possessed.

He groaned against my lips, desperate, wrecked.

"Need to fuck you," he rasped. "Right fucking now."

I nipped at his bottom lip, hard enough to make him gasp, and then turned around, pressing my palms against the hood of the nearest car.

The metal was hot against my skin, my dress riding up my thighs, my ass bared to the night.

I heard him swear under his breath as he fumbled with his belt, the frantic clink of metal on metal making my heart hammer against my ribs.

A second later, he was there--his hands gripping my hips, the fat head of his cock sliding against my soaked entrance.

He teased me first--rubbing himself through my folds, bumping my clit just to make me whimper and squirm--but I wasn't in the mood for games.

"Do it," I hissed over my shoulder.

"Now."

He thrust inside me in one brutal, beautiful stroke that knocked the breath from my lungs.

I cried out, shameless and loud, clutching the hood with white-knuckled fists as he filled me.

Thick, hard, perfect.

He held still for a moment, panting against my shoulder, buried so deep I could feel him in my belly.

And then he started to move.

Hard, fast, brutal.

Each thrust rocking me forward, sending heat skittering up my spine.

The air was thick with the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into me, with the helpless little moans I couldn't choke back.

He reached around with one hand, finding my clit with rough fingers, rubbing tight little circles that made me buck and cry out.

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, voice wrecked and trembling.

"All for me."

I couldn't answer.

All I could do was take it.

The stretch, the burn, the maddening slick glide of his cock pounding into me over and over until I was nothing but nerve endings and need.

My orgasm slammed into me out of nowhere--violent, all-consuming.

I bit down on my own arm to keep from screaming as my body locked up, shuddering and shaking around him.

He cursed again, louder this time, losing whatever control he had left.

His thrusts turned desperate, sloppy, punishing.

And then he followed me over the edge, burying himself deep, spilling inside me with a broken, gasping groan that made me shudder all over again.

We stayed like that for a minute--wrecked, panting, clinging.

The world blurring around the edges.

The smell of sweat, sex, and summer heavy in the air.

Finally, he pulled out with a groan, his hands lingering on my hips like he didn't want to let go.

I turned to face him, still catching my breath, my dress barely clinging to my body.

He looked at me like I was the only thing he'd ever wanted.

Like he'd never seen anything so dirty and perfect in his life.

I smiled--slow, wicked--and straightened my dress with a little shake of my hips.

"No one's ever gonna believe you," I whispered, brushing my fingers under his chin before walking away, heels clicking against the asphalt.

Leaving him there.

Still trying to remember how to breathe.