She tries to hide her face in my shoulder again, but I grip her chin and force her to look at me.
“Don’t you dare cover up. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Jessica.” I slam up into her again. “You’re fucking mine.”
I drop my mouth to her breast and suck, tongue dragging over the stiff peak while I keep pounding up into her from below.
She cries out and I feel her squeeze me even harder, getting close. She starts to collapse forward again but I don’t let her.
I catch her waist and push her back.
“No,” I murmur. “I’m not done watching the way these tits bounce for me.”
Her eyes fly open, body tipping back on instinct. I guide her down until she’s leaned fully back, arms braced behind her on the blanket, chest up, tits bouncing with every breath.
“Please, don’t stop,” she begs as her tits bounce with every thrust.
“Not until you break for me,” I rasp, leaning over just enough to reach between us and circle her clit.
“That’s it,” I murmur, watching her face come undone. “You’re right there.”
She nods frantically, hips jerking, thighs tensing around me.
“You gonna come for me?” I purr. “Soak my cock while I’m looking at you like this?”
“Y-Yes, please!” She’s stuttering now.
“Then do it,” I snarl, rubbing her harder, fucking her faster. “Come on, baby. Show me.”
Her whole body locks, taut, trembling, suspended for one heartbeat.
Then she shatters.
She comes with a scream, head falling back, hips jerking against me as her pussy clamps down so tight I nearly black out.
“Fuck, baby!” My voice breaks as my thrusts turn shallow and out of rhythm.
Finally, I spill into her with a groan, buried to the hilt, pulse for pulse, every beat of my orgasm dragged out by the way she’s still milking me.
Her name is the only thing I can say. Just a broken groan against her skin as I hold her down and let the wave take me.
I collapse back, taking her with me.
“Holy fuck,” she whispers.
I smile.
Yeah.
Holy fuck is right.
Chapter twenty-five
~JESSICA~
It’s been a little over a week since the beach. A week since the sandcastle and the picnic and Dom’s secret house and the way he looked at me when he said,You.
A week since I finally met him. Not Captain Dominic Moreal. Not the man the internet screams about in comments. Him.
In that week, he’s flown out for away games and flown back in as soon as he could. I’ve spent every waking moment sewing, fitting, ripping, re-sewing, while he spent every waking moment on the ice or on a plane…and somehow still found time to come home and make everything feel better. And filthier.
