The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) (27 page)

But I would not let him.

I leaned in and licked the side of his shaft and he groaned. It did not taste like anything. It was warm and hard and smooth under my tongue. I licked the other side, and the front, and grasped it with one hand. He was breathing out raspy sounds of approval. I lifted up its weight, and licked his left testicle. I wanted to put the whole apparatus in my mouth, all of it, somehow, in some way. And I mewled at the impossible prospect.

“Oh God,” he exclaimed, making strained gasping noises.

His cock in my fist felt so thick, so strong, so needy, and I pointed it at my mouth. I kissed the tip, and tasted a salty liquid. Semen had come out the top! I did not know that could happen
before
ejaculation.

“Charlie! What the fuck,” he hissed, his fingertips digging into my head, and I thought he might force my head the way he wanted it, but . . . he did not.

I slipped the tip of his penis in my mouth and worked my lips softly as though it were ice cream and I was getting it all over my mouth. He groaned with relief and desperate need, spreading his feet wider.

I glanced up to see he had thrown his head back, then he brought it back down and locked his eyes with mine.

“Yeah, look at me,” he choked out. “Keep lookin’ at me.”

I opened my mouth and took his cock in deep, staring up at him. When it hit the back of my throat, I pulled away, drawing a string of saliva in my wake.

“Yes, again,” he said, gently holding my head.

I slid it back in, and, holding the base, my lips taut, I sucked it, pulling my head back, and I realized how much work I had cut out for me. He put his hand over mine at the base of his shaft and fisted it in time with my mouth, showing me. I sucked and slid it in and out of my mouth, over and over, moving my hand with the rhythm, my neck and mouth straining from the effort, making sounds of uncontrolled delicious pleasure, humming onto flesh. I had never felt so empowered, so delighted with debauched repletion.

He growled out, both hands on my head now. Stronger, harder, he pressed me onto his thrusting hips, choked me with his sudden unleashed need, which seemed to make him even greedier.

I yanked my mouth away, eyes running, rising up, seeing instantly his confusion, his need, unfulfilled.

I stood up and pushed his chest—hard.

I needed to balance the scales once again,
my burn
searing inside of me.

He frowned, and I found myself mocking his frowning face, like he does to me, and, after a flash of anger, he smiled, perhaps understanding, and sat down on the bed. Together we crawled back up it, me on top of the length of his body. I straddled him, and shifted my thong aside.

Gently, slowly, both of us watching, I rubbed my slick body along his hard shaft, rocking back and forth, back and forth, the promise of the length, the girth that awaited, combining with the pressure on my clitoris . . . I gasped and glanced into his eyes and shook my head in disbelief. Disbelieving the high I was experiencing.

He laughed then, knowingly, pleased, hungry, reaching up and tugging my bra down enough to free my breasts. He pinched my nipples in his fingers, and I felt, then, how strong I had to be to truly possess
him
. How maybe, maybe I never would properly. Maybe he would always be stronger that way.

“Fuck me,” he ordered. I glanced into his . . . desperate eyes.

“Fuck me,” he said again.

In my blindness, a shadow appeared.

“Condom,” I uttered.

Bending his knees to gain leverage, he grabbed my hips, and pulled me down on his head momentarily.

“We need a condom!”

“I’m clean, Charlie. I swear to God.”

“But it’s not safe,” I gasped, as he played with my clitoris. He already knew that—we had talked about the fact he wanted me to go on birth control before he left for Vegas.

His eyes glittered madness, and a force of something I had never felt before hit me like a wave. “I don’t care,” he uttered. He steered my hips on him again, his fingers deep in my soft flesh. Panic abated my burn. I pressed against his arms and tried to lift myself away from him.

“Jace, no,” I said. We froze in a moment of competing force, me pulling away, him holding me in place.

For a moment, I felt him demanding of me, silently. His will. I was . . . confused.

He pursed his lips, groaned, shoved me to the side, hard, stood up and went over to his suitcase. He came back to the bed with a condom in his hand, and kissed my mouth hard, lying us both back down, side by side.

He must have lost his mind for a moment. I wanted to restore the balance. Go back to where we were.

So I forced my body onto his, straddling him again.

“I like being on top,” I ground out, between kisses.

“Oh ya do, do ya,” he muttered, allowing me the control. I heard him rip open the condom, and felt his arms wrestle down below between my legs with the task. I tasted his mouth, feeling the faintest hint of stubble, licking his front teeth, swallowing his saliva, breathing his breath. I wanted to hold him down so hard, forever, and take his breath away.

“All set,” he murmured, his hand back to holding my head close to his.

“Now fuck me, ay,” he ordered, kissing me. He wouldn’t release me so I could find my way to his head, instead saying, “Here,” and raising his hips, pressing the head of his shaft into my folds, steering it with his hand.

I shifted my hips down, closing my eyes to
feel
, my hands on his chest for balance. Gently pressing down, enveloping the top, his hand on my neck, his mouth on mine, I moaned. I filled up my sensitive flesh, slowly stretching it, giving myself exactly what I needed, so badly—sitting all the way down on his cock. I moaned louder. He choked out, “That’s it.” Releasing my neck, his hands grasped my butt cheeks and ground me down on him. I could not breathe right. His penis reached all the way inside me, hitting some point that made me flinch with intense pressure.

Barely able to move, I gently shifted my hips around on top of him, experiencing, exploring, the pangs in my pelvis making me shut my eyes tight, and he moaned, “Yes.”

He pulled my knees up, gesturing with wild eyes for me to plant my feet flat on either side. I did that, and, squatting on him, I lifted myself up. He squeezed his eyes tight with pleasure and opened them.

Pure greed.

“Fuck me.”

And I did. I slid myself up and down on his penis using every muscle in my body to build toward the pleasure I wanted, I needed, deep below. But I could not just take from him or keep my eyes closed. I needed to see his pleasure.

A smile ripped across his face and he was staring at me like he could not believe I was real, watching my breasts shake, my face tense from pleasure and strain . . . His dazed obsession with me made me burn hotter, and I shifted harder and faster, needing more, more, more . . . but it was not enough.

My leg muscles burned with fatigue and cramp, and I whimpered out after all the intense labor, falling down full on him for just a moment—just until the muscle burn went away, I told myself—wet with sweat and my own juices. He pushed my feet back out and pulled me forward, so my breasts hung in his face, and he sucked one briefly. He bent his own knees, dug his heels in and drove into me with full force and speed, the likes of which I could never achieve—what I needed so badly.

Our skin slapped together, marking each moist, fleshy penetration, louder, quicker, harder, the ecstasy mounting.

“Yes,” I told him. He was nourishing my burn, and I shook all over from the sexual pleasure.

Oh! Not yet! I fought to stretch out the feeling. His hand clasped my neck, and I found his eyes, watching me, and he
knew
, he knew I was trying to take more, and his eyes willed me to, but that alone—

I came as I looked in his eyes, and I knew he was coming too, that he had been waiting for me.

He was the North Star in my night sky of bright white lights just then. They were shining down everywhere, and sprinkling all over us, as I yanked up and arched in a muscle spasm, letting it in all over, feeling it, holding onto it as tight as possible, and then unable to stand it any longer, shuddered, tingling, slumping forward, limp.

Delirious, making soft noises, I slowly shifted my hips on his cock, yet
still
, eyes half closed, feeling more powerful than I ever felt in my life, stretching out every last second of the . . . otherworldly grace floating away from us . . .

Between the panting, it struck me that we could not get closer to such a beautiful thing more often without being physically intimate—I should like to have it at my disposal whenever I wished.

The thought flitted away along with the last of the electrifying sensations.

I was exhausted.

Lying on top of Jace.

Jace Knight. I did not know him solely by name. He was so much more complex than that.

He
did this to me.

I did this to
him
.

I leaned up and smiled.

“Don’t get used to it. I prefer being on top,” he said, exhaling raggedly. I could feel his heart pounding through his chest and into mine. My face was tucked into his neck, my legs still straddling him.

“You will have to share,” I said, kissing his mouth. He glowered, but it was not sincere, patted my butt cheek, lightly, and I eased off of him. He curled up right away and swung around, stood up and headed to the bathroom. When he returned he slid in beside me again, smiled at me, and I was reassured. We lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. I felt my own wetness, but before I could get up, he said, “Stay for a bit, ay? I want to stare at you.”

I was glad to get lost in his caves, too.

“I love how you don’t hold anything back from me,” he said after a few minutes, rubbing my arm. “I try to do the same for you, you know.”

I wondered what he meant.

“You don’t keep anything from me,” I said quietly, realizing that that may not be true. “Not when we make love,” I added.

“What do you mean by that?” He clouded up.

I sat up.

I’d done it again. Why was I poking him, trying to hurt him? “I need to clean up.”

He followed me into the washroom. “What did you mean by that?”

I stood in front of the sink; he filled the doorway. “Jace. I want to clean up.”

“So wash yourself, what do I care. I want to know what you meant.”

My heart was slipping, and the terrible sense I had of wanting to stay and wanting to run pressed in around me.

I took off my thong and wiped myself with a wash cloth. My cheeks burned. He watched me with a strange look in his eyes, as though he was bracing for the worst. When I was done, I faced him and held his stare.

I pulled at the courage I needed.

“I need to ask you a question that is likely to create a negative emotion in you.”

He waited, not giving me any reassurance, crossing his arms over his chest. We stood a few feet apart, naked. I had never felt conscious of my body before and I was not then, but I did feel vulnerable, emotionally, yes, that was it, and maybe as a result, I wished to cover myself. I grabbed the white robe hanging on the door and tried to get some air into my lungs. I could not allow myself to ignore the latest accusations leveled against Jace by Sullivan. I needed to fight my lust, my affection so that I could focus on my safety. I needed to be clear on Jace’s choices, not to judge, but so I could make my own.

I tied the belt around my waist.

Certainly, I could do this. It was unavoidable. Necessary.

I asked his Adam’s apple, meekly, “Are you involved in criminal activities?”

“Right,” he barked, making me jump.

Silence.

“Look me in the fuckin’ eye and ask me that, ay.”

I quickly glanced up at his face and away again.

Anger. He was leaning forward aggressively. His penis was slowly unwinding from its efforts, projecting low on one side.

“Look me in the eye.”

I did as he asked.

“Now ask me.”

“Are you,” I caught my breath, “involved in criminal activities?” I sounded very quiet. Not myself.

I felt a burn in my nose, and my eyes grew blurry. He blew air out of his nostrils and stepped closer, but I stepped back, needing space to stay the course.

“Don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what?” he asked, tenderly.

My gaze flashed on him again, surprised. His face had grown lighter, calmer . . . maybe as he took in my sadness. He had uncrossed his arms, and tilted his head to the side.

No. I knew what he was trying to do.

“Seduce the truth away,” I answered, remembering how he had reassured me in Port Douglas with physical affection.

His mouth popped open.

“I deserve better.”

He flinched, and, after a moment, glanced away. He rubbed his head, breathing out of his nose, his glazed eye focusing on a spot on the floor beside me.

“I know what you are doing right now, too.” He would be running through ways to get whatever it was he wanted.

He glanced up at me, surprised. “I know how it works, Jace. I grew up around the same derros, remember?” I said, using his words.

He shook his head and held his hands out. “Charlie. I told you, love. I’m working for a better life. Remember when I told you that, how I could see the future in your eyes? I meant it.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said quietly. “Did you think I would not hold you accountable to that? I am not a pushover for the people I love.”

His eyes flashed wide and my stomach dropped. “I meant, I was referring to my mother,” I rushed to amend. Tears that had been simmering pushed their way out. Now I decided to run, not to stay. I was . . .
exposed
.

I tried to pass him, but he grabbed my arm with vice-like strength. He was gritting his teeth, maybe smiling, with pain, staring down at me with a ton of emotion I could not wrap my head around.

“I’ll tell you one more time. And if you don’t believe me, we’ll fuckin’ head back right now and we’re done. I’ll be done. Got that?” I’d never heard that tone from him before: it brokered no fool. “And if you believe me, you believe me for good. And you’ll never ask me about any of this shit again. Ever. You just believe. Simple.