Demon Bound

virgins. This was Pete. He was making it count.
    He undid the fly of her jeans, helped her wriggle until they were halfway down her legs. Pete grabbed his hips, pulled him up to her lips, and kissed him deeply as her hands worked at his cock, stroking him length and breadth, teasing his balls with her fingertips, and grinning against his mouth.
    “You like it, luv?” he murmured, rubbing circles against her tits with his thumbs, coaxing the soft high moans from her that made his cock leap in her hands.
    “Yes.” Pete drew back and eyed him seriously. “I may faint from sheer awe.”
    “You
slag
,” Jack growled, hooking his fingers in her panties and jerking them down to mid-thigh.
    Pete let out a gasp as his hand found her, parting the thin stripe of black hair at her pelvis and sliding from her clit to her opening.
    Jack felt wet against his fingers, enough of it to tell him that Pete wasn’t waiting. A rub of his thumb against her clit confirmed his theory, as she gasped, her back going rigid and pushing her bare tits against him.
    “
Fuck. Jack.
”
    He pushed into her with his fingers. She was still tight, soaking wet but not quite ready for him. Any other time, with any other woman, Jack would have been happy to give the assist, but he felt that if he didn’t put himself inside her in the next few seconds he was going to combust.
    The tip of his cock had stroked the outer fold of her when she stopped him.
    “My overnight bag,” Pete murmured thickly, palms against his hips. “The outside pocket.”
    Jack braced himself on his arms, looked down at her. “You have
got
to be sodding kidding me, Petunia.”
    “Jack,” she said, still panting. Mussed and flushed as she was, Jack knew she wouldn’t stop him if he simply fucked her with no further chatter.
    “Now who doesn’t trust who?” he said peevishly as he snagged the bag and found the packet of rubbers where Pete said it would be.
    “Not you,” Pete said, grabbing them from him. “Just all of the other women you’ve been fucking.”
    She tore the packet and flung it to the side, and although her movements were frenetic they were still too slow. “Pete,” Jack said, the hoarse note in his voice entirely involuntary. “Do you want to drive a bloke into cardiac arrest?”
    She took his cock and slid the rubber over it, biting her lip in such a fashion that Jack was nearly blinded by the urge to make her come, so she’d repeat the gesture while she screamed his name.
    “There,” she said. “Was that so . . .”
    The last word lost as Jack shoved her thighs akimbo and drove himself into her, Pete let out a gasp, half pain. Jack gave a groan of his own as she closed around him, and even though he’d resolved to make it last, to lose himself, he kept moving, hard and rhythmic as the drum line of a Bastards song.
    Pete, for her part, arched her back upward, digging her nails into his back and meeting his thrusts. It was nothing like his vision—it was hot and frantic and
present
, and their magic wasn’t colliding but combining and nearly sending Jack off-balance as he edged closer to the finish.
    He watched as Pete dropped one of her hands between her own legs while Jack drove himself faster as the telltale heat waves spread across his vision.
    “Oh, Petunia,” he growled, the sight nearly sending him over then and there. “The things I’m going to do to you.”
    “Do it, then,” Pete dared him, her cheeks flaming. “I want to come, Jack. Make me.”
    Even though his base instinct snarled in protest, Jack pulled out of her, and Pete gave a cry of protest. He grabbed her hips and flipped her easily onto her stomach on the carpet—one of the benefits of fucking such a petite little thing.
    His left hand dug into the firm, yielding flesh of her arse. His right reached down into her curls and found her clit as he re-entered her, his cock finding its deepest purchase yet.
    Pete gave a small scream, shocked and hoarse, and Jack fingered her in time with his thrusts, her cries driving him harder and faster with every movement of his hips.
    “Jack,” Pete whispered. “Jack . . .
Jack . . .
”
    She shuddered around him, the first hint of release, and her breath was little more than ragged sounds. “Stop,” Pete begged. “Stop it . . . I can’t . . .”
    “No,” Jack said. “No, my sweet, I’m not done yet.”
    But Pete was, and with the next stroke of his fingers she lost herself, her pussy closing around him and fluttering