He’s got the thickest fucking fingers I’ve ever seen—and felt.

And right now, there are two of them knuckle-deep in my pussy, teasing me toward an orgasm that I don’t even want to give him the satisfaction of bringing me to.

…Except that I do want.

I want a whole fucking lot.

It’s not often that I feel overwhelmed, but I’m quickly realizing that I’m in over my goddamn head.

I’m undeniably attracted to all that alpha male bullshit. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s obnoxious, it’s anti-feminist, but hey—at least it’s fucking hot.

Just, usually all the male posturing has crumpled beneath me right now. There’s just something about me that does that to men—they growl at me, I bite back, and just like that, their manhood whimpers like a kicked puppy and curls up in a corner on the floor.

Not Evan, though.

When I bite this fucking man, he bites back.

And he goes right for the fucking throat.

“You fucking like that, don’t you?”

A dark laugh spills from his throat, like cold water onto black ice.

“Admit it, Emilia.”

His fingers probe deeper still, and I cry out as they find what he’s been looking for.

Bingo. Yatzhee. Jackpot.

The sound of my whimper is muffled by the pink lace of my La Perlas, stuffed between my lips and wet against my tongue.

Evan leans into me. His lips are only a fraction of an inch away from the place where my neck meets my jaw.

“Ah…that’s right,” he purrs. “You can’t, can you? Christ…I hope you know what a fucking snack you look like right now with your pretty little panties in your mouth.”

I bite down on the lace between my back molars as I try to shift my hips away.

There’s an orgasm on my horizon. Especially if he keeps talking to me like that.

And god. I seriously do want him to keep talking to me like that.

Especially when he just keeps fingering me harder in spite of my struggles.

“Taste yourself, beautiful,” he hisses in my ear. “Taste the evidence of how fucking wet you are for me while you come around my fingers…and I’ll give you what you want.”

I close my eyes, breathing heavy…and I do it.

I let the taste of my honey register on my tongue.

Tangy, salty, sweet and musky.

I’m a fucking dessert right now. Apple. Caramel. Vanilla. Coconut.

“Come for me, Em,” Evan growls. “Come for me, and tell me what you want.”

Fuck. The sound of his voice makes my fucking cunt spasm.

And after that?

After that, it’s all over.

“Mmmphf!” I moan, tossing my head back against the leather back of the armchair.

My pussy is in a world made of pink-hot heat, and I can feel my honey gushing over his fingers as my whole body spasms, soaked in warmth. The orgasm rips through me, violently and passionately, and with an equal force to every other orgasm I’ve had right up until this point—combined.

Evan tears his fingers away and drops to his knees again, lapping hungrily at my throbbing, dripping pussy with his hot, thick tongue.

He grabs onto my hips as my orgasm fades away into desperate little gasps.

I’m shaking. He’s bristling with unspent energy.

And as he rips himself away from my pussy, he looks up at me like he knows exactly where he wants to expend every ounce of it.

“You’re taking my cock,” he tells me.

Not ‘Do you want it, babe?’ and not even ‘Tell me you want my cock.’

He just tells me, just like that. That he’s going to fuck me.

And I just look up at him with my body still heaving from the world-shattering orgasm I just had and my panties stuffed in my mouth like, okay. Because at this point? It’s white flags all around, babe.

I’ve felt the pleasure. I’ve felt the heat. If I come to regret this, I’ll do it in the morning.

Right now?

Full fucking surrender.

If he wants his cock inside me, then he’d better give me his fucking cock. Any other man would’ve taken me to bed.

Or…let’s be real.

Any other man would have tried to take me to bed. I’ve watched horny idiots fumble around with their buttons and flies in frantic desperation. Christ, I’ve seen them get hard and forget that they’re supposed to be between my legs—not the other way around.

Most men get kind of fucking dumb when they want to fuck me as bad as I know Evan must right now. But most men aren’t him. He gets his dick out before I’m even fully recovered from wave after wave of pleasure I just finished riding.

Then he fucks me right there, on his leather fucking armchair.

My body crushes beneath his as he tosses his shirt across the room. I’m bathed in the scent of his skin. My lips find the place where his pectoral meets his shoulder.

When I kiss him, I breathe everything in.

The leather of the armchair.

The tequila on my tongue and the soaked panties in my mouth.

And him.

He’s hard rain and singed ozone, lightning tearing through a starless night. Amber whiskey in a glimmering decanter and fresh cut grass. The heat of his skin is unbearable.

I want—need—desperately—

More.

MORE.

My fingers curl against the firm, burning crescents of his shoulder blades as his cock slides into my slit and forces its way in. My fingernails cut into his skin, and not even my La Perlas can muffle the sound of my moans.

We come together. It’s not just happenstance. It’s an inevitability. He growls, and I scream. Our bodies are united, not just on a physical level, but in sheer fucking rapture.

Ecstasy.

One moment, we’re howling and hissing like alley cats.

But the next…the next is the best part.

The next moment, we’re dissolving in laughter against each other—caught up in complete disbelief that what just happened actually fucking happened.

That this is even real.

And that it could feel so fucking good.

It almost feels like the beginning of something.

…Or maybe that’s just Evan’s cock twitching inside me, coated in his cum.

Christ. He’s still fucking hard.

“Round two?” he asks, plucking my panties from my mouth.

I crack my neck and eye him like a piece of fucking meat.

“You’re on, tiger.” I grab the back of his head and force his lips against mine. “But this time, I’m on top.”