Chapter 34

The sun made its lazy way through the blinds and across the bed. Sandesh rolled onto his side and watched it play across the soft curves of Justice’s sleeping body.

The few stitches in her side had bled through the bandage at some point. The bloodstain was dry and dark now. She had other scars here and there. Some savage. Some delicate.

They told a story. Survival and sadness. She was amazing—more complicated and interesting than any woman he’d ever been with. His cock grew hard. He pressed it into the side of her smooth leg. She smiled but kept her eyes closed.

He pressed deeper. She giggled, turned, so that her sleek, wet core met him. That was more like it. “Oh, Sandy, did you want something?”

“You. Back. Front. Over. Under me.”

She laughed out loud. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He knew enough about Justice, had learned it through repeated exchanges, that the girl liked to joust. Sometimes her jousting involved games of teasing. He did not want to be teased right now. He wanted to fuck.

He ran a hand over her breast. The tip sat up. She bit her lip, then made an “oh” sound. She grabbed his hand, pushed it aside.

Shit. Girl wanted to play.

She batted her big, dark, “screw me harder, deeper, yes there” eyes at him and began to sing. That song. From Grease. Boner killer. Nearly, anyway.

“‘Stranded at the drive in. Branded a fool. What will they say Monday at school?’”

“Stop that.”

She sang faster, louder. The stanzas weren’t even in the right order. “‘Oh, Sandy, baby, someday when high school is done. Somehow, someway, our two worlds will be one.’”

“You’re bringing up painful childhood memories.”

She giggled. And, of course, kept singing. Jokingly, he covered her mouth with his hand. She reacted like he’d whipped out a knife and held it to her throat.

She knocked his hand away, rolled on top of him. She glared down. “Don’t ever do that.”

Boundary alert. Fuck. He was an idiot. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

She waited. He had no idea for what. He didn’t dare move. He felt awful. And what did it say about him that he still really wanted to have sex? Preferably soon. She began to sing again.

No way.

Now she was just challenging his manhood.

He drove his hips up so hard and fast she lifted into the air. He shot to a seated position and caught her carefully in his lap. They were face-to-face.

She cursed. It would really help if Justice pissed off wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

And if her cunt wasn’t pressed against his cock.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stop squirming, Justice. I just want to talk.” Preferably about how we could go back to being friends. And then fuck.

She was having none of it. Her left fingers snapped out, jabbed him in the neck. Damn it. He began coughing. She pushed him flat onto the bed, so she straddled his middle. Her eyes were on fire.

How the hell had this happened?

She pressed her knees onto his biceps and her hands onto his wrists. She watched him. There was a challenge in her face. And rage.

What had started out as playful wrestling took a turn that bordered on testing. She put her face within inches of his. “What are you going to do?”

Yeah. Justice was very much interested in testing him.

Every instinct screamed for him to use his strength to easily flip her over. His cock and fists were equally hard. But instinctual reaction didn’t override his reason. Logically, he understood. He’d challenged her. She felt vulnerable.

He knew this not by the way she rolled her ass across his hard-on—that was her way of egging him on—but by the strength she put into holding him down. Her hands tighter around his wrists than was necessary. Her forearms so tensed he could see her veins.

For her, this had stopped being a game. She needed to know he would not take advantage of superior strength even though she taunted him, even though they both knew he wanted to overtake her.

She was asking if she could trust him. Any other woman, he’d probably just get up and tell her to fuck off. But this one… He wanted her to know. He would never cross that line. Not emotionally and certainly not physically—unless she spoke the words and gave the unequivocal signal that that was what she wanted.

And then it would be playing.

He gritted his teeth. Her ass rolled across the tip of his cock. Fuck. She was going to torture the shit out of him. His breath became ragged. The sound of it filled the room.

She stared at him. Her dark eyes teasing and serious as he walked the edge of wanting and fury. “You were saying?” She began to hum that song as the softest part of her body, the moist wetness, gyrated against him. This might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Literally.

He wanted to roll her over. He wanted to fuck her.

She increased the friction, humming that damn song louder. His body responded automatically, adding moisture to accompany her rhythm. He didn’t follow his instinct. More than anything, he wanted her to trust him. He watched her, waited for her to get it.

A well-worn Shakespeare phrase filtered through his head. “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”

He had the good sense to keep quiet.

A long moment of sweet friction that felt as much like losing as winning. Damn fucked-up ego. She eased up. She smiled, as if they’d reached some kind of understanding.

She lowered her face to his. “I like you.” She kissed him. It was long and deep and set his body thrumming. “I really like you.”

Her soft lips pressed his, then slipped to his chin, his neck. She kissed the hollow at the base of his neck. Her hands came off his wrists. She stroked his biceps, his chest. Her hips rolled faster against his cock.

She kissed down his body. Her core lifted from his cock. He fisted his hands in the sheets so he wouldn’t grab her. She was in the driver’s seat, and he wanted to see where she’d ride him.

She moaned, sucked on her pinky finger. Then her hot lips trailed soft, sucking kisses down across his abs. Her mouth. Shit. She was going to…

She found the tip of his penis and sucked it inside, without her hands, which were busy doing other things.

The pinky of her right hand slowly circled and entered him from behind. Shit. So smooth and sweet. She knew what she was doing.

Her tongue moved against the head of his cock. Her mouth ground lower, putting pressure and releasing. The pace was excruciatingly good. He moaned and bucked into her mouth.

She began to stroke the base of his cock with her other hand as she sucked him off and gyrated the soft tip of her finger inside his ass. Goddamn.

He’d had blow jobs before. Had amazing blow jobs before, but he had no idea how anything could feel so fucking good. Her pace increased. He had to calm himself, get some control. No chance. She sucked and rolled and pumped. The orgasm slammed into him as hard and unexpected as a summer storm.

“Fuck. Yes. Justice. Fuck!” He rocked into her mouth as his cock exploded. She sucked him down, swallowed his come as her dark eyes dipped closed.

When the final shocks of pleasure receded, his body collapsed back against the mattress. She sat up and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

He wanted to move, grab her to him, but she’d absorbed every bit of energy and need out of him. He was too satiated to stir. She flopped on top of him, grinning like she’d won, had the trophy, the blue ribbon, and the crown. Damn. Yeah. He’d give her that.

She smelled of his musk. And like Justice. He closed his eyes. He kissed the top of her head. He found his voice. Barely. “In two hours, I’m going to wake up and return the favor. Then I’m going to roll you over and fuck you until you scream my name.”

She chuckled. “I’ll set my clock.”