“Oh, fuck.” John’s body shakes as he jerks in my mouth. “Oh, fucking hell.”

His hand comes down on my head, fingers tangling in my hair. He’s big and hot in my mouth. Enough that I feel the stretch in my jaw. Enough he’ll have to work to get himself inside me.

I love the way he tastes, the thick glide of him along my tongue and the way he trembles, thrusts his hips just a little like he can’t help himself.

“Stells …” He sounds pained, weak. I love that too.

I don’t recognize this mindless, needy thing I’ve become where every touch is a matter of now and more and again. I don’t recognize this messy, hot emotion swelling, or the way I lose all sense of myself. I’m not mine anymore; I’m his.

John’s hand in my hair tightens and then eases. I let him lift me up. Our eyes meet, his wide and dazed. I grab the condom from his hand and work it over his length. In a blink, I’m on my back, the breath whooshing from me. John grabs my hips and hauls them up over his thighs. My tits lift high, my back arching as I press my shoulders into the bed to brace myself.

The wide crown of his cock notches against my slick opening. It draws all my attention. John leans forward, and that fat head slips just inside, stretching me. His eyes close, a look of near pain flitting across his features. His lips go slack, the space between his brows knitting.

Somehow, I know—I know he’s thinking about all those times he jacked off imagining this moment. My body clenches at the thought, and he feels it. His eyes snap open, brilliant green and intense. I spread my thighs wider. His eyes narrow with determination, and he pushes in.

He makes me feel every inch, going slow and steady. He pushes until he bottoms out and holds himself there, moving his hips in a slow circle, just enough to make me moan.

“I’m yours,” I say, a bit mindless. “Yours.”

John grips tight to my hips. “I know.” Then he begins.

And I lose my damn mind altogether.

John

* * *

She’s laid out over me like a buffet. I want to eat every delicious inch. But right now, I can only fuck her—watch my dick move in and out of her slick, pink clasp with a sense of absolute wonder. She feels so damn good, my heart pounds so damn hard, I can’t catch my breath. All I can do is thrust and retreat and thrust, pound into her like a madman.

Need is an animal clawing within me, demanding harder, deeper, more. Just fucking more.

Sweat slicks my skin, runs down my spine. My ass clenches with each thrust. I feel the tightness in my muscles, the hot burn of exertion. My dick is so swollen, so hard, it’s taken over all thought.

Stella moans, her head tilted to the side, her lips parted and her eyes closed like she needs to concentrate on each touch. But that won’t do. I need her eyes. Need those dark blue eyes looking into mine so I can see a little more of her soul.

My hands slide up her sweaty back and grasp hold of her shoulders. Red-gold hair tumbles and swirls around her face as I haul her into my lap, have her straddle me as I fuck into her sweet little pussy. Her expression is hot and dazed, but she wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her tits into my chest, and moves with me, snapping her hips, meeting each thrust.

She’s so damn sexy, completely carnal in the way she looks at me from under lowered lids, in the way she captures my lips and eats at my mouth as though all this fucking has her starving. I’ve never had sex like this before—the give and take. We’re communicating here. Earlier, every touch was tempered with tenderness. Now, it’s hard need. I want to get under her skin, push into her heart.

She told me she was mine. She has to know I’m hers too. She fucking owns me now.

Stella’s fingers tangle in my hair, the grip bringing a bite of pain that spurs me on.

“So good,” she pants into my mouth. “So good.”

I kiss the damp curve of her neck, suckle the soft skin where her scent is the strongest. With a grunt, I tumble her back onto the bed and come down on top of her. Stella wraps her legs around my waist. When I grip her thigh and lift it higher, she moans and wiggles closer.

“Tell me,” I say, slowly fucking her into the bed. “Tell me what gets you off.”

Her eyes lock onto me. I see the surprise in them, like she’s never been asked. Truth is, I’ve never bothered asking either. Selfish. Not with her. Never with her.

I want to learn Stella, turn her world inside out and upside down.

“My tits,” she blurts out, panting and flushed. “Suck my tits and … oh, God. Do that again. That move …” She groans deeply and pushes up into me. “Again.”

“What?” My lips wobble on a smile, because I’m going to lose it soon. “This?” I thrust, tilting up at the last second.

She mewls. Like a horny kitten. Damn, I like that sound. I love that sound.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes. More.”

Yes, ma’am.

I’m taller than Stella. We don’t line up eye to eye. It isn’t easy keeping my rhythm, moving my ass the exact way she likes while finding a way to suck her swaying tit. But I am a man determined, and the sweet sounds she makes, the way she tenses and clutches me is so fucking worth it. Her pleasure increases mine.

I live there, in her world of pleasure and need, in that hot, sweaty place of skin moving against skin, her body gripping mine. Every move feels like heaven, yet not quite enough. I never want to leave here.

When she begins to come, her tight clasp milking my dick in rhythmic pulls, it’s the biggest high I’ve ever experienced. I work her through it, revel in the way she arches against me, digs her heels into the bed as her orgasm rolls over her. Flushed, sweaty, grunting, and totally uninhibited, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“John,” she says, blinking up at me, wild-eyed.

The first time anyone has ever said my real name during sex. And it’s Stella calling out to me. I don’t know why, but it slices me open on an emotional level I never knew I had. My throat closes up, the air pulling into my lungs burning.

I don’t know if what I’m feeling can even be called pleasure; it hurts too much. I’m pulled too tight, my skin stretched too thin. But damn if I don’t want to plunge right into it. So I do, thrusting mindlessly, reaching, reaching. Stella is all around me, warm skin, rich curves, her hands on my ass, her pussy slick and so damn tight.

I meet her blue eyes and call out—God knows what. Sound tears from my throat, but I don’t hear it past my pounding ears. I look at Stella and fall into the abyss.

I.

Am.

Wrecked.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stella

* * *

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Rye pops a piece of dragon roll into his mouth and gives John a smug grin as he chews. “Look at you, all calf-eyed and fawning.”

John snorts. “Make up your mind. Am I a calf or a fawn?”

“Both.”

John shoots me a glance, makes a face at Rye. We’re snuggled up in a corner of a massive, private booth, eating dinner with his friends. A large, cream velvet curtain blocks us off from the rest of the restaurant, and I’m surprisingly grateful.

When three-fourths of Kill John decides to go out on the town en masse, people follow. Cameras follow.

I’ve attended red-carpet events. One year, I was even been lucky enough to go to the Met Gala; I wore a black, off-the-rack sheath and gratefully blended into the background to dress watch. But in all those instances, I was working as a hired companion. My attention had focused on soothing my nervous client, stepping in to engage in small talk when someone got tongue-tied, making a running commentary to entertain. I enjoyed myself, but it was still work.