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Trashed (Stripped #2) Page 70
Author: Jasinda Wilder

“Like you belong?” His mouth slants across my jaw.

“Yeah,” I breathe, tilting my head to the side, offering him my throat.

“That’s because you do.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” He takes my offer, nipping across my throat and then down, his hands rolling my yoga pants down a bit further, revealing the indent where my hipbones lead to my core.

“I want to belong.” My hands flutter and find his skin. “I’ve never belonged anywhere before.”

He tugs my pants down so I’m nearly bared to him, but not quite, and then his hands cup either side of my jaw. His eyes find mine. “Well, you belong now, Destiny.”

My heart stutters at the way my full name sounds on his lips. Words stick in my throat.

“Where do you belong, you ask? Well, let me tell you.” He speaks into the silence of my inability to reply. “To me. With my family. In my life. In my home.”

“I like all those places,” I whisper.

“In my bed.”

“I’m wearing too many clothes to belong in your bed,” I say, looking up at him.

He peels my pants off, then my shirt. “Let me fix that,” he rumbles, his eyes raking and roving over my body as he bares it, bra then underwear.

“And so are you.”

“Then you should fix that, too.”

So I divest him of his jeans and underwear, and then he’s walking me backward, kicking open a door. I pause to look around. The bed is set in a nook to the left of the doorway, on a raised platform. It’s a massive bed, custom-made by the look of it, piled with pillows and throw blankets. There’s a set of French doors to the right, leading out onto a balcony, and straight ahead is a door leading through to a mammoth walk-in closet that, in turn, leads to a bathroom.

“I like your condo,” I tell him.

“Me too.” He grins at me, his hands roaming over my ass. “I’ve only owned it for a year. You’re the only person other than my parents, my sisters, and my agent who has been here.” I know what he’s saying, that Emma has never been here. That the memories we make here are solely ours. He kisses my shoulder, cups my breast. “So, my sexy Destiny…you have two choices. Number one, I lay you on the bed over there and eat you out until you can’t breathe, and then I fuck you six ways to Sunday. Or number two, I bend you over the bathtub, and then fuck you in the tub. And then maybe the shower.”

I reach behind me and grab his erection. “How about option number two, followed by option number one?”

His finger slips between my thighs, finds me wet and ready. “I like the way you think, baby. Guess I’d better get started.”

“Guess so.”

He moves past me, through the closet—which extends at least two or three hundred square feet to either side—and into the bathroom. The floors are marble, and warm under my feet. There’s a palatial glass-walled shower with more heads and nozzles than I can understand, a double sink, several shelves of thick, white, folded towels, and a separate room for the toilet. But the centerpiece is the tub. Claw-foot, circular, and gobsmackingly enormous. Big enough for even a man as big as Adam to lie in, with room for me as well. The faucet and knobs are brass, matching those at the sink and shower.

And, coincidentally, the tub’s walls are the perfect height for me to hold on to. I discover this the fun way as Adam guides me to the tub, places my hands on the rim, gently but firmly presses on my shoulder blades until I’m doubled over, and then nudges my feet apart. My hair is still in the ponytail, so he slowly pulls the elastic band free, feathers his fingers through my hair, and then drapes it over my shoulder. I crane my neck to watch him, trembling in anticipation.

He palms my ass cheeks, lifts them and lets them fall with a heavy bounce, slides his hand between my thighs and finds my entrance. Guides himself to the opening and slides in, no warning, no easing in, no foreplay. I gasp and then moan at the sudden fullness of him inside me, lean forward and relax into his movement for one…two…three…four thrusts, and then he’s out.

“Don’t move,” he tells me, giving me a light pat on my ass.

He circles the tub and twists the faucet on, adjusts the temperature, then sets the plug. While it begins to fill, he rummages in a cabinet beneath the sink, finds a bottle of some kind, and squirts it into the stream of water. Bubbles immediately form.

I glance at him in curiosity. “Bubble bath?”

He grins somewhat sheepishly. “I had the place done by a company. They staged all the furniture, picked out everything from towels to silverware. And, for some reason, they provided a bottle of bubble bath. I’m not sure why they stocked a bachelor’s condo with bubble bath, but now I’m glad they did.”

I reach down and swirl my hand in the water, find it steaming hot. Adam points at me. “I told you not to move, Des.”

I put my hands back on the tub. “Well hurry up. I need you.”

He grips his cock in his hand and strokes it. “This?”

I nod. “That. Bring it over here.”

He shakes his head. “How about you touch yourself for me. Let me watch you make yourself come.” So I slide two fingers against my clit and gasp as I circle myself, slowly at first, and then faster. “Stop,” he commands, when I’m moments from climaxing.

I halt, quivering, aching, and then Adam is behind me, pressing the broad, soft head of his massive cock to my clit. He cups my tit with his other hand, thumbs the nipple until I moan, and then massages my hypersensitive nub with his head until I’m rocking against him, gasping and moaning.

“Adam, I’m—shit…shit, I’m coming!” I feel it hit me all at once, rockets shooting outward from my core, making my knees tremble.

He shoves his cock into me at the moment of my orgasm, and I squeal in shocked pleasure as he fills me. I fall forward, gripping the tub rim for dear life, and then push back into him, bowing my spine inward to get him deeper. He grips my hips and pulls me into his thrust, pushes me away as he pulls out, and then slams back in, and my climax is still ripping through me, stealing my breath and making me dizzy.

And then, abruptly, he pulls out, leaving me fighting for balance and for breath. “Fuck…Adam, why’d you stop?”

“Because I’m not ready to come yet.” He growls this, and I can tell whatever game he’s playing is costing him in terms of control. He wants to come, and I know he was getting close, but he stopped anyway.

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Jasinda Wilder's Novels
» Alpha (Alpha #1)
» Beta (Alpha #2)
» Trashed (Stripped #2)
» Stripped (Stripped #1)
» Wounded
» Falling Into Us (Falling #2)
» Falling Into You (Falling #1)
» Falling Away (Falling #4)
» Falling Under (Falling #3)