What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [18]
Her lips trembled as she found the quiet strength to turn her head toward his, bringing them face-to-face, their eyes, mouths, only a few inches apart. “Which is?”
“Just like you said. You don’t get to decide. I do. And I’m going to fuck you so deep,” he promised, his teeth clenching lightly, “so good, that it’s gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Because that’s what you want—and what you need, baby. To be fucked.”
Their eyes still locked, Jenna parted her lips to speak, having no idea what she intended to say. But Brent stopped her anyway, with a short shake of his head. “No words, Jenna. No more decisions or choices. You just do what I say now. You just be a good girl and turn around and hold on tight to that rail.”
Jenna drew in her breath and slowly did what he instructed—looked straight ahead and gripped the railing. And felt guilt and worry slip away, like a silk gown falling from her body. It was a game of words, but that didn’t matter—somehow, never telling him she wanted it made it less heinous. Forcing him to make the decision washed away the conflict inside her.
His hands locked on to her hips less gently now and her body tensed with strange pleasure as she waited. He pulled her closer then, making her re-situate slightly on her heels, her back arching. And then—God—his fingers were there, behind her, moving between her legs, parting her, and at least two of them pushed up inside her, making her cry out. Yes, yes! At last—something there, inside her. She bit her lip, her breathing ragged. More, please. She wanted to beg—but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to want it. She just wanted him to take it.
His fingers thrust inside her and she heard her own wetness and wondered briefly what she looked like bent over a handrail, her dress lifted to her waist—but she pushed that thought aside. In fact, she shut her eyes again since that made it all easier. To just feel. To just pretend she was dreaming or something.
And then Brent’s fingers were gone and Jenna knew what would come next, so she bit her lip, bracing herself, and then there he was—so, so hard—positioning himself, and she instinctively arched deeper, lifting her bottom higher, and then—oh!—he was inside her, entering slow and, as promised, so very deep.
Thank God she held on to the rail or she’d be on her knees now. The sob that left her rose from her gut. God, he felt big—it had been so long since she’d done this. But he also felt good, delivering that incredible fullness she’d yearned for.
When he began to move in her, it was slow, thorough, his strokes stretching all through her—from head to toe. Big, so big. He filled her. And she gradually began to push back against him, meeting his long, sensual thrusts, taking him deeper still.
“Open your eyes, Jenna,” he purred over her. She’d turned her head to the side at some point, so he knew they were closed. “Feel this. Experience this. All of it.”
Biting her lip, she did as he said. She took in the beach again—a glimpse of white foam as waves broke over the shore in the moonlight. He was right. She felt it more this way. And it made it . . . dirtier. To be forced to remember she stood in a gazebo, fully dressed, being . . . fucked by him, a total stranger. She never used that word, but he used it a lot, and as he drove up into her wetness, again, again, she knew that’s what this was—fucking.
She pushed against him, harder, harder. She heard her own labored breathing.
And then Brent’s hand snaked around from her hip to the front, and when he sank his fingers there, she moaned. Yes, yes, God, please. More words she couldn’t bring herself to utter. With some other lover in some other place and time, maybe—but not with this stranger, this man who insisted he knew what she needed. It was impossible.
So instead she simply moved with his touches and heard