and out, catching up with the
pace of his cock.
And I’m moaning, low and deep and uninhibited. My own
fingers rub faster—harder—in front. Then I gasp as he stretches
me wider, making room for the second finger he just slipped in.
his movements are unhurried. Torturous and teasing.
And I want to open my mouth and beg for more.
More friction, more heat.
Faster. More. Please .
Drew compels me forward gently. Bending me over, so my
hair brushes the bottom of the sink. And then he’s gone—out of
my body.
And I ache with the loss of it.
Until I feel the head of his cock, wet with my fluids, stroking
back and forth over the opening his fingers just occupied.
“Drew . . .”
It’s a keening moan, half pleasure, half pain.
All pleading.
“Say yes, Kate. Fucking Christ . . . please say yes.”
his voice is raspy. Raw.
With need.
For me.
And suddenly I feel powerful.
Strange, considering our current position, but still—I’m the
one in control. he may as well be begging at my feet.
Waiting and hoping for my command.
I don’t think. I don’t weigh the options or contemplate the
consequences. I only feel, submerged in rapturous sensation.
I let go.
And I trust.
“Yes . . .”
Twisted_1P.indd 9
11/18/13 11:47 AM
10
E m m a c h a s E
Ever so slowly, Drew presses forward into me. There’s a
moment of pain—a stretching burn—and I inhale sharply. he
pauses. Until I release my breath. Then, gently, he continues
forward, until his most intimate flesh is fully ensconced in my
own. Then he stays completely still. Letting my body adjust to
the intrusion.
I feel his hand slide across my hip and down my thigh, coming
around to my front. his hand goes under mine, his fingers rubbing
in a circular motion. In that sensuous, magnificent way, before dipping inside me. Over and over and over again.
I always thought of anal sex as the ultimate show of domina-
tion, forceful, maybe humiliating.
But this doesn’t feel that way.
It’s primal . . . unexplored . . . but beautiful too. Sacred.
Like I’ve just given him my virginity. And in a way, I guess I
have.
I move first, pushing back against him.
Giving Drew permission—wanting to know, to experience
these new sensations. Needing to cross the finish line. With
him.
It’s more than erotic. Beyond intimate.
Drew’s lips press against the skin on my back. Kissing and
cursing and whispering my name. And then he’s the one moving.
Taking back control. Gliding in and out—tender but steady.
It’s divine.
My hand clasps over his at my clit. My legs tremble and I know
I’m getting close. So close. Like climbing a mountain and realizing the peak is just mere steps away.
Our breaths come in deep open-mouth pants with each drive
of Drew’s hips.
“Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .”
Twisted_1P.indd 10
11/18/13 11:47 AM
t w i s t E d
11
Men’s orgasms are ninety percent physical. It’s easy for them
to get off, regardless of where their thoughts are. Women have it
harder. Our orgasms usually hinge on our mental state. Which
means if you guys want to get us there? We can’t be thinking about that load of laundry in the next room, or the pile of papers waiting on our desks.
Which explains why it’s not Drew’s hand, or dick, that does
me in.
It’s his voice.
With his forehead against my shoulder blade, he chants, “Oh
God, oh God, oh God . . .”
It’s so unlike him.
he sounds open. Exposed.
Vulnerable.
This infuriating man, who always wants to be in charge, calling
the shots. Who doesn’t make a move without examining it from
every angle, turning it around in his amazing mind—the pros, the
perks, the ramifications.
he’s falling apart behind me.
And as he whispers a litany of profanities and prayers—I fall
over the edge.
Into ecstasy.
My head snaps back and my eyes close. And stars burst behind
my eyelids as I tense and scream, and wave after dizzying wave of
pleasure wracks my