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“Sugar.” His rumbly voice pulled my gaze back to his face, and I belatedly realized my mouth was hanging open.
“Huh?”
“Take off your clothes.”
Right. Clothes. The things separating me from feeling his hot body all over me. With moves that were nowhere near as graceful or sexy as his, I ripped off my shirt, then my bra, then shimmied out of my yoga pants and underwear until I was naked on the bed and laid out for him like a very willing sacrifice.
The right side of his mouth tilted up in the cocky smirk that got me the first night we were together, and my heart pounded in my chest.
I was going to marry this man.
Maybe it was crazy to think that after we’d just broken up and gotten back together—if you could call it a breakup when you ended your sex arrangement—but the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him made me sure that it was true. He was never going to let me go, and more importantly, I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to always fight for me. To show up at my doorstep and bare his soul.
His hand reached forward until he grazed his knuckles against my ankle, slowly moving his hand up my inner leg until he was leaning over me. His gaze never left mine as he switched sides and did the same thing to my other leg. My breathing was erratic, and I was sure he could hear my heart beating because the sound was so loud in my ears.
His fingers left my legs, bypassing where I ached for him most, and then skimmed up my belly. He touched me like I was the most precious treasure he’d ever encountered. His dark brown eyes swirled with desire, hunger, and so much love, I wanted to wrap myself up in it.
“Connor…”
“I know what you need,” he said, his deep voice doing twisty things to my insides. I did that to him. I made him sound needy and ragged. I made him weak as much as I made him strong. All the ways he made me feel, I made him feel.
It was a revelation.Thiswas how love was supposed to be.
I couldn’t keep my distance from him anymore. Wrapping my hand around his neck, I pulled his mouth down to mine, and our lips brushed at the same time that his hand cupped my breast and his thumb and finger pulled on my nipple. My back arched on the bed as a moan escaped between us.
My teeth bit his lower lip, mimicking the way he pinched and tugged on my nipple. He let out a low growl that I felt between my legs.
“Fuck,” he cursed and then his mouth was on mine in a ravenous kiss like nothing else we’d ever shared.
He was done going slow. Thank God. We could go slow later, but right now I just needed to feel him inside me. I reached between us, gripping his hard length and tugging on him, bringing him closer to me. His hands were everywhere. My breasts. My neck. My hair. My hips. Touching me with such heat, I thought my body might burst into flames.
“Connor, now,” I begged between kisses.
He moved away only long enough to put on a condom and then I pulled him toward me before moving my hand to wrap around his hip.
With one swift thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. “Oh God.”
“No God here, darlin’. You can say my name.”
I laughed. “You are so fucking arrogant sometimes.”
He smirked. “You love it.”
I couldn’t deny it. “I do,” I said seriously, and then wrapped my hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine. I knew there was more we needed to talk about, more he needed to tell me, but I wasn’t going anywhere and neither was he.
He thrust into me, his hips hitting my pelvis each time he buried himself inside me as deep as he could go. “Fuck, Jenna. You feel so damn good. Squeeze that tight little pussy around my cock. Show me how much you missed me.”
My pussy fluttered around him and he groaned. His dirty talk always got me close.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled against my ear as his hand slid between our bodies until he was brushing the most tantalizing circles on my clit. “Tell me, Jenna.”
“You,” I cried as my orgasm crested through me until it felt like I was exploding into a million pieces.
“You’re goddamn right. This pussy belongs to me. And who does this cock belong to?”
I could barely make sense of his words from the pleasure haze that was fogging my mind. He slid his hand behind my head, curling his fingers in my hair and holding my head still, forcing me to make eye contact with him as the last of my tremors faded. “Who does this cock belong to?” he whispered with a desperation that had matched mine earlier.
“Me,” I said, no doubt in my voice. He dropped his forehead to mine, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as he nodded. He was so close.
