The Cure

Chapter 9

Lola looked up at him, shadowed by his ferocity, his largeness, his huge hand pinning her wrist tightly in place against the mortar; the small space, the thick air shuddered between them, knocked about with their heavy breath, crackling with ferocity and something else.

A throbbing heat suddenly speared through her stomach and she could barely breathe, and all she could see were his plump lips, that he pressed together, and the evident vein at his neck, and the crease of his collarbone from beneath the round collar of his thin jumper.

She could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, she could smell the woody, crisp freshness of his cologne; her heart skipped a beat, her irritation doused, a licked finger on a burning wick.

Remembering the look on his face as her fingers had stolen into his boxers not twenty-four hours prior, her stomach started to pull more insistently until dampness, a pleasurable ache blossomed between her legs; her breathing hitched as he ducked his chin.

His eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched, and his Adam's apple bobbed, and his breath was coming fast from his nose as he struggled to bring his anger under control.

No – it wasn't anger.

He took her second arm, pinning it over her head, and there was no more hesitation as he lowered his chin further, and kissed her so urgently that her head was forced backwards against the wall; though she couldn't feel the brick behind her, noticing only the pressure of his lip against hers, and hearing ringing in her ears and moaning, yearning, breathless moaning – before she realised that it was her.

She kissed him hungrily back, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, surprisingly deft, and dancing, and sweet, and he bit down on her lower lip, making her cry out, whispering a conflicted fuck into her mouth as she tried to drink in some air.

He brought his knee up roughly between her legs, his grip tightening at her wrists, and her shuddering, surprised moan was louder, now, making his eyes flash with urgent need as she rolled her hips against his thigh, seeking friction against her; he submitted to her silent request with a small grunt of abandon, pressing his thigh more firmly, rhythmically against her, his teeth, his tongue still crashing against and between her lips, letting her rut against him until she thought she would come then and there.

With one motion he pulled his knee away, dropped her arms, unbuckling his belt with trembling hands then pulling at the swell of her backside, cupping the curve desperately, pulling her closer until she felt his firmness against her, making him growl with impatience.

He picked her up at the thighs and pressed her onto a counter-top.

The expression in his eyes was wild, uncontrolled as he reached under her dress, and pulled her lace underwear down her legs. With one large palm to her lower back, he dragged her close enough to the edge of the counter, then pulling his jeans down just enough, to allow himself to enter her, which he did, roughly, sheathing himself with another strained, grunted fuck.

The feeling of fullness; she hadn't dared look down, but she was filled; and she must have made a noise, because he didn't press forward immediately again, his fists balling at the material of her dress, panting, dropping his head to search for her gaze. She carefully avoided his.

'Did I hurt you?' Came his breathless low murmur.

'Don't stop.'

He groaned mercifully as he started to move. Lola clung with a steadying hand to the counter, the other hand gripping his bicep as each urgent thrust hit a place inside her that transformed the ache into mounting electricity, that made her legs tremble, that made glitter shatter behind her eyelids when they fell closed.