Read Online Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) by Jenna McCormick - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenna McCormick
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me.”
Again, I do as he says, watching as he extracts the plug from my throbbing ass. He moves to the dresser and returns it to the bowl before removing the condom. He reaches inside a drawer and withdraws a bottle of lubricant.
I bite off a protest when his palm smacks hard onto my backside. This isn’t punishment; I can see from his expression he’s admiring me. It’s so odd, yet so right.
“I’m not going to fuck your ass right now, but I will, soon. Right now, I’m going to mark you. Watch me.”
My mouth goes dry as he pours some lube over his hand and then sets in a furious pumping motion, squeezing his cock in strong, steady pulls. My body squeezes and he groans, working his shaft faster. I shiver as I realize he can see everything from his vantage; I can’t hide my reactions.
Every muscle is slick with sweat, every line pulled taut as he pleasures himself. He’s glorious like this, the picture of male arousal. He showed so much restraint with my body, never pushing me too far, but he is merciless with his own. His left hand comes around my hip and I can feel the air moving from his busy hand. The slick sound of his motion, skin to skin, working in tandem to crest that final peak.
The first hot jet of semen splashes across my skin, right into the crevice. I actually cry out at the sensation as another streak marks my private flesh. Our eyes lock as he continues to come against my ass. The knowledge is there in his eyes as well. We’re filthy, base creatures, reveling in hedonistic abandon. There’s no place I’d rather be.
He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my hair. His weight is delicious on top of me, his cooling cum melding our bodies together. The air in the room is filled with the scent of sex and the harsh breaths we’re both struggling to catch.
It seems like an eternity has passed since we entered this bedroom. We drift for a time, spent and floating in that ether reserved exclusively for post-coital lovers.
“Am I forgiven?” I ask at length.
He stirs and grips my chin. Those blue eyes seem calmer now than I’ve ever seen them. “As far as I’m concerned, yes.”
I hear what he doesn’t say. “But not with the other you.”
“Mr. Edge is trickier. The lines aren’t as clearly defined for him. He’s operating in the dark.”
“Why do you call yourself that?”
Connor shifts back and props a hand beneath his head. “Because he’s the public façade. The proper, user friendly version. I’m not fit for most company.”
“Which is the real you though?” I need to know this. I’ve connected with this side of him in a way I’m starting to doubt is even possible with the more aloof version.
Using his index finger, he pushes some hair away from my face. It’s such a light, tender gesture. “Both? Neither? Somewhere in between? Everyone has different facets of himself, different sides that he shows to different people.”
“But how come you are aware of everything that happens and he isn’t?”
“Enough questions.” Connor rolls off the bed. “I’ll run us a bath.”
Stung by his curt dismissal, I curl up onto my side. The thought of still being on the outs with the Mr. Edge version of Connor bothers me. The sexually dominant Connor possesses answers, but he won’t share them with me. Why?
Why didn’t I tell him about my grandfather’s illness? Because I was afraid. So what is Connor afraid of?
He has everything, at least on the surface. More money than he knows what to do with, looks, and other than his divided personality, his health. But he’s paranoid beyond reason, cagey and untrusting of most people. He goes to great lengths to conceal his true self, even from himself. There has to be a reason for that.
I need to find out what.
Chapter Seven
I follow Connor into the oversized bathroom. White votive candles are scattered about the room and the scent of vanilla
Again, I do as he says, watching as he extracts the plug from my throbbing ass. He moves to the dresser and returns it to the bowl before removing the condom. He reaches inside a drawer and withdraws a bottle of lubricant.
I bite off a protest when his palm smacks hard onto my backside. This isn’t punishment; I can see from his expression he’s admiring me. It’s so odd, yet so right.
“I’m not going to fuck your ass right now, but I will, soon. Right now, I’m going to mark you. Watch me.”
My mouth goes dry as he pours some lube over his hand and then sets in a furious pumping motion, squeezing his cock in strong, steady pulls. My body squeezes and he groans, working his shaft faster. I shiver as I realize he can see everything from his vantage; I can’t hide my reactions.
Every muscle is slick with sweat, every line pulled taut as he pleasures himself. He’s glorious like this, the picture of male arousal. He showed so much restraint with my body, never pushing me too far, but he is merciless with his own. His left hand comes around my hip and I can feel the air moving from his busy hand. The slick sound of his motion, skin to skin, working in tandem to crest that final peak.
The first hot jet of semen splashes across my skin, right into the crevice. I actually cry out at the sensation as another streak marks my private flesh. Our eyes lock as he continues to come against my ass. The knowledge is there in his eyes as well. We’re filthy, base creatures, reveling in hedonistic abandon. There’s no place I’d rather be.
He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my hair. His weight is delicious on top of me, his cooling cum melding our bodies together. The air in the room is filled with the scent of sex and the harsh breaths we’re both struggling to catch.
It seems like an eternity has passed since we entered this bedroom. We drift for a time, spent and floating in that ether reserved exclusively for post-coital lovers.
“Am I forgiven?” I ask at length.
He stirs and grips my chin. Those blue eyes seem calmer now than I’ve ever seen them. “As far as I’m concerned, yes.”
I hear what he doesn’t say. “But not with the other you.”
“Mr. Edge is trickier. The lines aren’t as clearly defined for him. He’s operating in the dark.”
“Why do you call yourself that?”
Connor shifts back and props a hand beneath his head. “Because he’s the public façade. The proper, user friendly version. I’m not fit for most company.”
“Which is the real you though?” I need to know this. I’ve connected with this side of him in a way I’m starting to doubt is even possible with the more aloof version.
Using his index finger, he pushes some hair away from my face. It’s such a light, tender gesture. “Both? Neither? Somewhere in between? Everyone has different facets of himself, different sides that he shows to different people.”
“But how come you are aware of everything that happens and he isn’t?”
“Enough questions.” Connor rolls off the bed. “I’ll run us a bath.”
Stung by his curt dismissal, I curl up onto my side. The thought of still being on the outs with the Mr. Edge version of Connor bothers me. The sexually dominant Connor possesses answers, but he won’t share them with me. Why?
Why didn’t I tell him about my grandfather’s illness? Because I was afraid. So what is Connor afraid of?
He has everything, at least on the surface. More money than he knows what to do with, looks, and other than his divided personality, his health. But he’s paranoid beyond reason, cagey and untrusting of most people. He goes to great lengths to conceal his true self, even from himself. There has to be a reason for that.
I need to find out what.
Chapter Seven
I follow Connor into the oversized bathroom. White votive candles are scattered about the room and the scent of vanilla
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