Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights) by Rosalie Stanton

nearly lost control earlier was more than he would have allowed himself if he sat in her place.
    But on some level he knew she was right. The only times Razor felt himself teetering toward a loss of control involved the less pleasant emotions like anger, guilt or grief. And finding out Aria had essentially donned a pimp hat when it came to his previously nonexistent sex life had a way of pissing him off.
    He had no idea what had happened with Ginny—what about her had made him waver so close to the edge of oblivion. How he could be so calm and collected one second and a rabid horndog the next was beyond him. The past few years had been spent cultivating an ironclad grip on his body. One simple whisper from Ginny had undone all of that in a blink.
    He didn’t like it.
    Especially when he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t do it again.

Chapter Four
     
    The apartment looked the same when she returned.
    Ginny didn’t know how long she stood in the doorway. A few seconds, maybe, though it felt like hours. Still, everything looked the same. She wasn’t surprised. Even after she’d stumbled away from Travis’ bed, everything had looked the same, and in many ways, that was what made things so damn difficult.
    Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
    What in the world had gotten into her?
    Ginny released a deep breath and tossed her keys toward the coffee table, but her hand was shaking so hard they missed by a mile and clamored noisily to the floor. She forced herself to edge past the doorframe and managed to make it to the sofa.
    Never in her life had she done anything like what had happened at Electric Panther. Never. She’d mostly missed that whole phase in college—mostly, and what she hadn’t missed she wished she had. However, for the bulk of her college experience, she’d skipped the full sorority girl shebang. She hadn’t done much beyond go to class, study for tests, write up papers and do her best not to gain the freshman fifteen. Sure, she’d dated, but most of the time only when pressured by girlfriends or her mother, who seemed convinced Ginny would die an old maid just because she hadn’t had anything she would call a boyfriend.
    If someone had told her she would be riding Razor’s cock as though she were a bitch in heat today—or ever—she would have laughed herself silly.
    God, she couldn’t hope to explain it to herself. All she knew was, standing there, looking at him, the need to touch him had overwhelmed any sensible part of her brain, and once his lips had crashed upon hers the game was decided.
    And she’d fucking loved it.
    A shiver raced up her spine before spreading across her chest. She’d loved it. Shit, she’d loved every second. Every thrilling jolt, every crash of euphoria, even the horrifying possibility someone might stumble upon them and find her smashing her pussy over and over on Razor’s prick. Might see just how depraved she was and how little she’d cared in that moment.
    Three years since that night with Travis and all it took to get her to spread her legs was a man’s lips on hers.
    No. Not just any man’s. Razor’s. And it wasn’t just him—it was everything he represented. The danger he exuded. How anyone could walk away from a sexual assault and crave danger was beyond her, but it didn’t make her own desires any less real. It didn’t make her actions today vanish, nor did it detract from just how much she’d loved it.
    How drunk she’d been on the thrill.
    Another long sigh climbed up Ginny’s throat and she lurched forward on the sofa, her head falling into her waiting hands. She really hadn’t accounted for what would happen when she let her guard down enough to get intimate with a man. It hadn’t been on her bucket list. Even her recent nocturnal habit of lurking in the shadows at Electric Panther and drooling over Razor as his mouth made love to the microphone hadn’t fundamentally reshaped her resolve. Get close, open up, get hurt. Lather, rinse, repeat. At least that