Free Shatter (Club Grit Trilogy) by Brooke Jaxsen Page B

out of me and waiting for my head to nod.
    I pulled him close instead, and whispered in his ear, “Yes”. He pulled away from me desperately and I watched as Lawrence pulled out a condom from his pants pocket, opening it, and unrolling it as he put it on, removing his boxers with the other hand.
    I hadn’t expected Lawrence to be so...well endowed. The joke with billionaires and rappers and powerful men is that they’re compensating for something, but Lawrence had nothing to compensate for. His dick was like a warped Greek column, the veins running on the side in wavy lines, and the head as steady a cap as any architect could wish to envision. His testes were like steps to this shrine of pleasure, a priapic monument to his sublime masculinity, to his ability to pleasure me in ways he’d only given me a taste of...by taking a taste of me.
    He pressed the head against my entrance and I gasped. He started to pull out and asked, “Are you okay?” but I pulled him close and into me, muffling my whimpers by translating the sounds of my desire into feelings of pure pleasure that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than the most true show of adoration. My hands felt along his head, the hair soft even as it became sticky with our sweat and body heat, the sheers not as great at ventilating the room as they’d seem, Club Grit’s atmosphere slinking in like raver rain in a warehouse, but I didn’t care. With Lawrence, I could be dirty, I could be elegant, I could be anything he desired, and it didn’t matter, because as long as I had him, I’d be anyone.
    I felt him hit my G spot and couldn’t help but throw my head back, and Lawrence didn’t miss the opportunity to pull me up, one hand behind my back, the other keeping my hips down and in their proper place, below him, before pressing his mouth against my tender neck. He started to suck and to bite, as if I was a sweet Popsicle on a hot summer’s day that he needed to both taste and to quench his thirst. Part of me wanted to tell him to be gentle, so that I wouldn’t get a hickey. I’d never gone back to the sorority house with one, but Lawrence...was different. Any mark from him would be a badge of honor, so as I enjoyed him pressing into my pleasure zone while pulling part of my neck further into him, like we were a paired set of ouroboros, the serpent eating itself, taking itself in and being taken in all at the same time, I just gripped hard, at his back, feeling the firm muscles rippling beneath the surface of his velvet-soft skin.
    I was so wet, I could barely feel that Lawrence had the condom on. I’d seen it, I knew he had one, it was easy enough to check surreptitiously, but I didn’t need to. I trusted Lawrence. I could also feel his body heat even through the thin latex of the condom, transferring from his body to mine and back again like the way that we’d swapped spit before, but something that was more automatic and beyond our control. I could feel every ridge of his cock, from the line around the helmet shaped head, to the ripples of the veins along the shaft, and I could feel his balls slap against me as he pressed into me over and over, faster and faster, their sound like the clapping of a bird’s wings in the wind.
    But as I got even wetter, Lawrence’s thrusts became more hurried, as did the way that he was using the rest of my body, moving more quickly from spot to spot, and moving his hands from my back to my breasts, pinching and squeezing at my nipples to the point that I squirmed without meaning to, but not without needing to. He knew how to work my body better than I had, and once he placed his mouth on one of my hardened nipples and sucked as hard as he had at my neck, making my back arch into the air as if I was possessed, I knew that I had never had a lover like Lawrence before, and I may never again.
    Where had he learned the secrets of how to please a woman? Was he an ex-stripper? Did he have an ex-wife who had been a nympho, or