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"Fuck." I shift my hips, pushing him deeper.
He moves his hand with a steady rhythm.
He rubs slow circles over my clit as he fucks me with his fingers.
As he sucks on my nipples.
Pressure pools inside me. Every thrust of his hand winds me tighter. Every brush of his thumb pushes me closer to the edge.
It feels so good.
But it's not enough.
I need him inside me.
I tug at his hair, bring his head to mine.
He leans onto his free arm.
Kisses me.
I groan against his mouth. I rock my hips to drive him deeper.
His next thrust pushes me over the edge.
All the tension inside me unravels. Pleasure spills through my torso, my thighs, my chest. It spills all the way to my fingers and toes.
I groan his name against his neck as I come.
It's so much better than my hand—and I fucked myself thinking of him every night this week.
I blink my eyes open. Look up at him.
He brushes my hair behind my ear. It's sweet. Too sweet. I can't handle that kind of intimacy. Not right now.
I reach for his jeans. Undo his button. His zipper. Cup him over his boxers.
I stare into his dark eyes. "Fuck me."
He lets out a low groan. "Spread your legs, sweetness."
I do.
He reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out something. A condom.
He presses it into my palm. Stands to push his jeans off his hips.
Then his boxers.
Fuck. He really is huge. Bigger than I remembered.
I motion come here.
He nudges my thighs apart so one is pressed against the back of the couch.
Then he plants between my legs.
I tear the wrapper and slide the condom over his cock.
