#SSceneC2017 : Karen Stivali vs Amy Andrews @karenstivali @AmyAndrewsbooks

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Oliver’s voice shook, and the sound of his doubt reached my soul.“Christ. Is that what you think? That I don’t want you? Because wanting doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about you. Crave. Need. I don’t think a word exists that explains how much I want you.”

Something between a sigh and groan escaped him. His fingers trembled as he stroked my cheek, and I shivered from head to toe in response to his touch. His other hand cupped the back of my head, massaging the tense muscles in my neck.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

The whispered question hung in the air between us, sweet and ripe and too tempting to resist. I leaned closer, savoring the anticipation for every last second I could stand it, then brushed my lips on his. Mother. Of. Christ. Heat surged through me in a rippling wave. I kissed him again.

In my fantasies when I kissed Oliver, it was a frantic, frenzied, ravenous devouring. Rough and hot and full of pent-up desire. But when my mouth actually landed on his, not one of those things mattered more than the fact that I wanted to savor him. Anything beyond a light brushing of our lips would have been too intense. As it was, my cock pulsed each time I made contact.

Oliver didn’t seem to be in a rush either. He seemed perfectly content to let me take my time. Unable to wait another second to taste him again, I dragged my tongue across the swell of his lower lip. His happy noise corresponded with a hip swivel that sent his cock sliding against mine. Two layers of briefs and denim did nothing to mute the sensation, which was enhanced by my brain’s willingness to provide an immediate and vivid montage of that cock naked and erect.

Licking my way into his mouth took a degree of patience I didn’t know I possessed. What I did know was I didn’t want to rush any of this. I’d wanted it—all of it, all of him—so long and so badly. More than I ever could have admitted to him or myself. And now that I had him, right there, warm and sweet and real, I wanted to take my time.

His tongue met mine for a tentative swirl that sent our hips rocking in synch again. The sweet, pure flavor of him was like a drug I knew might be addicting but had a high so irresistible, I was willing to take the risk. I explored his mouth, aware of every single response—fingers slipping through my hair, breath hitching when I gave a light suck, and that swivel—Jesus Christ, that swivel of his hips had me imagining him in every position known to man and a few that may have been physically impossible but seemed awfully fucking tempting in theory.

Oliver’s soft groan lured me out of fantasy and into the reality of his tongue stroking mine. Gripping his hip, not wanting to risk losing one square centimeter of contact between our bodies, I inched him backward a few feet until he was leaned against the fridge. The cool metal grazed my knuckles as I raised the back of his T-shirt. He hissed, arching away from the cold and into me.

“Fuck.”

I breathed the word into his mouth, and he answered with something that sounded enough like “Yes” to make my heart skip a beat. Magnets and photos scattered as I pressed him harder against the refrigerator door and his tongue resumed its dance with mine.

Need hummed through me, and the deeper we kissed the more I realized it wasn’t need for sex or contact, it was need for him. My fingertips tingled as I moved a shaky hand over the contours of his face. The face I’d spent the past month memorizing but somehow saw more clearly now than all the times I’d studied it with my eyes.

My brain filtered out every sensation that didn’t involve Oliver. His taste. His smell. His rasping breaths. His fingertips massaging my scalp. I pulled away, needing to look at him, to process the visual along with everything else.

Disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, eyes wild, pupils a mile wide, lips wet and swollen. He looked as wrecked as I felt, and all we’d done was kiss. I tugged at his shirt, and he raised his arms, letting me slip it over his head. It fluttered to the ground as we reached for each other’s waistbands.

I’d never been so grateful not to be wearing a belt, because fumbling with his was more than enough of an obstacle. Steadying my hands took serious effort, but I got it undone and not a second too soon because once he got my fly undone and shoved my pants past my hips I was no longer capable of any thoughts.

Desire consumed me.

I don’t remember stepping out of pants or even moving back toward each other. I just remember the impact. His mouth on mine, my hand braced against the fridge, my erection sliding against his. Jesus. Smooth, hot, slick. The rumble in my throat echoed in my ears, filling the room with the sound of our lust.

It occurred to me that we could go to my room, my bed, hell, even the couch, but I couldn’t stop humping against him long enough to really consider which location would be best. His pants and whimpers weren’t doing anything to unscramble my brain. I reached between us, roughly circling both our cocks and trying to coordinate our movements. So much heat. The air, his body, his cock, each thing incrementally hotter than the next.

I groaned into his mouth, feeling precome stream across my knuckles, adding to the slick heat as we bucked together. Holy hell. Maybe we should head for some furniture before one of us passes the fuck out.

Oliver didn’t seem to want to move. He gripped my neck harder, kissing me with renewed determination. I breathed his breath, keeping up with both his manic tongue and the increasingly purposeful thrusts he was making in my hand. The muscles in my stomach flooded with warmth, and my thighs shook. Ready didn’t begin to describe how I felt. I needed to come. Hard. Soon.

“Fuck.” The word came out of Oliver as a whisper, but I felt it in every inch of my body.

“Yeah.” I pressed my forehead to his. Knowing we were both gazing down at the frantic gyrations of our cocks pushed me right to the brink. “Can’t hold off.”

“Don’t.” He widened his stance, hips moving faster, increasing the friction. And I was gone.

Cue full-body explosion. No exaggeration. Everything from my scalp to my toes tingled like I’d somehow managed to excite every single nerve in my body. Semen jetted out of me with such force, I convulsed against Oliver, shooting all over him, myself, and the door of the damned fridge.

Wordless sounds poured from him as he continued thrusting against me, pumping his cock against my palm like his life depended on it, then erupting in a fevered gush. His mouth found mine, wet and sloppy, as our tongues tangled, breaths ragged, come landing in warm splats on my thighs.

Oliver’s breathing slowed along with his tongue. He closed with a sweet, lazy kiss before pulling back, hair wild, eyes even more swirly than usual, with a look behind them I hadn’t seen before. Satisfaction? Desire? Whatever it was he wore it well. It was sexy as fuck, and I didn’t want to look away.

He spun her around and yanked the dress down, leaving it to pool around her ankles, a lace thong the only thing between her and naked.
“Fuck.” His breath hissed out at the sight of her bare breasts, the two pale triangles of flesh glowing like a torch in the subdued light. His gaze locked on the slight swing of them and Juliet’s gut clenched.

So did her sex.

He swooped down, his mouth opening over a nipple and Juliet almost screamed it felt so good. Hot and wet, the suction almost brutal. His hand squeezed the other breast and she arched into it, his fingers pinching the diamond hard tip.

It hurt. It hurt so freaking good.

“This what you want, huh?” He pulled her hips off the wall with his spare hand to fit snug against his body. “Me using you like this?”

His head lowered to her other breast, replacing the pinching with suction, soothing the stinging tip as his fingers tortured the other.

Yes. This. Them using each other. That was what she wanted. What the hell was wrong with that?

“Fuck you,” she panted, her left hand ploughing into his hair, her fingers twisting hard.

He didn’t even flinch and that just made her madder.

She shoved his jacket off his shoulders, pushing it half way down his arms, deliberately restricting the movement of his hands. But his mouth was still free. Free to lick and nip and suck, relentless on her breasts, ravaging them until she thought she might just die from the flood of pleasure and the tiny daggers of pain as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive tips.

She groped in his back pocket for his wallet, pulled it out and quickly located the condom he always stashed there. Blindly, she reached for his fly, not bothering with buttons or press studs, not caring whether his trousers were on or off, just needing access to his cock.

She found the metal tab and reefed it down. He grunted at the noise then groaned as she quickly freed his dick from his underwear. Her nipple slipped from his mouth, his forehead pressed to her chest.

He was smooth and big and lethal and hers and Juliet’s heart sped faster at the thought of him being inside her. “This is what I want.” She ripped the condom open and groped between them, fumbling. A guttural noise of triumph escaped when she finally managed to sheath him.

“Now –” Her hands slid to his hips. “Fuck me, damn it.”

He didn’t need to be told, his hands trapped at her hips, were already rolling her underwear down, pushing the itty bitty thong as far as he could reach before sliding the hard, thick length of his cock through the slickness between her legs.

He notched himself at her entrance and Juliet lifted her leg, gripping his hip with her inner thigh. “Ryder.” She panted into his neck in frustration, rutting against him as he held still, trying to wiggle herself on to him. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest. “Do it, damn it.”

He did it. Flexed his hips and in one quick thrust, ploughed straight in to the hilt. He groaned and she gasped, her head rocking back against the wall. “Yesss.”

It was perfect. Just right. Just what the raging, frothing she-demon inside her needed. The demon that had driven the stupid argument between them and nothing short of his possession was going to drive her out. Revenge sex had taught Juliet that it wasn’t possible to screw the angry out, but if anyone could, it was Ryder.

She moved restlessly against him as he held himself high inside her. “Again,” she demanded. “More.”

“Christ.” His breath was hot on her neck. “You’re so fucking bossy.”

But he gave her more, his hands clamping hard on her hips, locking them into position, using them for purchase as he pulled out and slammed into her again.

And again. And Again. Over and over.

His hips bucked with precision, like a machine, pistoning in and out, ramming his cock right to the hilt, her entire body jerking with every thrust.

He didn’t try to kiss her. She probably would have bitten him if he had. This wasn’t nice sex. It wasn’t considerate. This wasn’t the kind of sex lovers had. It was two angry people trying to fuck each other into submission.

And she’d never been more turned on in her life.