What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [17]
Jenna had never felt this way in her life: blinded by lust. She held on to the railing in front of her with both hands, bracing herself, moving more vigorously against him. Against his fingers in her wetness, against the incredibly hard column that slid up and down through the center of her rear.
She would come soon—she knew it. She bit her lip and thrust herself at his touch with sheer abandon. She kept her eyes clenched tight—she wasn’t sure why but didn’t examine it; maybe she’d always done that when approaching orgasm. And she was pretty sure she’d have climaxed already if she hadn’t been fighting this so hard, but she was unable to fight any longer. Oh God, she was wet for him, dripping wet, and for a brief, startling moment she allowed herself to revel in that, in how wet he’d made her and the knowledge that she was getting his hand just as wet.
“That’s so good, baby,” he purred in her ear now, “so damn good. But you need more, sunshine, and you know it. You need my hard cock in your tight little pussy.”
And—dear Lord—she did. The dirty promise vibrated through that very part of her, making it ache—for more than just his skilled touch, for . . . fullness, something thick and sturdy inside. And she knew she should end this—because sex was a big step beyond touching—but she felt almost paralyzed, stuck between two extremes, both nagging at her. Her instinct was to say stop, but if she did, he would, and that wasn’t what she really wanted.
Now both his hands were up under her dress, pulling her panties down to midthigh. And then his touch was gone and she knew he was undoing his pants. Her paralysis grew worse—stark, raging lust warred with something that ran nearly as deep: her common sense, her lifelong morals, the sense that having sex with a stranger was insanely wrong.
His hands closed warmly on her exposed bottom now, and—dear God—his erection pressed into the valley there, his hard, hard flesh nestling where she was soft. She bit her lip and gripped the rail tighter, nearly torn in half with conflicting emotions.
“Tell me you need it, baby,” he purred, low and demanding. “Tell me you need my big cock.”
Unthinkable. She didn’t know how to talk that way. And she couldn’t admit to needing it—she just couldn’t. “I can’t,” she whimpered, hating how weak she sounded.
Now his fingers dug slightly into her hips, and his rigid length began to . . . move up and down again, sliding, as if sawing into her defenses. “Then tell me you want it,” he whispered more softly, seductively. “Tell me you want this, sunshine.”
She let out a breath. Faced the cold, hard truth. “I can’t do that, either.”
Behind her, he tensed slightly—she heard him breathe in deeply. God, she was frustrating him. But she couldn’t help it. This was entirely new territory and she wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten here.
He leaned back in, slow, warm, and at the same time slid one hand back around to the crux of her thighs, letting the tip of his middle finger come to rest on the spot where she felt most swollen and needy. “What do you want, Jenna?” Despite what she’d feared, his voice remained entirely gentle, understanding. He was really asking her, asking her what she wanted.
It forced from her . . . a shocking, unshrouded truth. “I want . . . not to decide. Because no matter what I say, yes or no, I won’t be happy. I want . . . the decision taken away from me.” Her eyes bolted open then to peer out on the dark, empty beach in the distance, across the dunes, to the stars now dotting the night sky, and the world felt surreal. She wasn’t sure what she’d just admitted, but it felt . . . like a confession of epic proportions. It left her more drained than anything else that had happened here—her limbs felt weak; her soul felt weak.
But Brent still held her up. His hands eased around her in a warm embrace from behind, settling at her waist. He leaned over and gently bit her shoulder—barely letting his teeth press into her flesh—and the unexpected affection jolted through