Whiskey eyes blaze brighter. “I don’t think that’s true.”
In one smooth motion, he levers up and pulls his shirt off. Then, with the efficiency of a man who works with his hands all day, he jerks my dress to my waist, lifts my back, and slides it up over my head.
There’s no shame in the way he looks his fill, pausing on my bare breasts and panties. My chest is small, my underwear a plain and utilitarian black. But when he gruffly mutters, “Yeah, I’m a fucking goner,” any doubts about whether he likes what he sees begin to scatter.
And when he grips my ribs and plops me further back on the bed like I’m an empty oyster cage, those doubts completely snuff out.
Because I’m keenly aware of how he’shandlingme. The way he’s used his strength to put me right where he wants me since we started this at the entryway. No hesitations. No guessing.
It might be the biggest turn-on of the century. Worthy of the history books. At least five chapters in my autobiographyyy?—
He drags a knuckle up my seam through my damp panties. “Let’s see howsmartthat tongue is while I fuck you.” He punctuates it with another pass of his knuckle, and my entire body jolts. Rough fingertips hook inside my waistband. “That a yes?”
It’s anIf you don’t insert your cock into my vagina right now, I’ll combust.
I nod shakily.
“Already out of words, and I haven’t even filled you yet,” he teases, removing my panties with an efficient jerk. “A little disappointing, Boston.”
His playfulness gets my neurons firing again.“Wouldn’t want to crush your ego so early in the game, Grayson.”
“Early?” he repeats, shoving out of his pants, his boxersgoing with it. His cock juts out from a neat nest of dark hair, thick and long and erotic as hell. “You think this isearlyin the game?”
Yes. No.I don’t even know, because my heartbeat ratchets to its highest gear as he leans toward his nightstand, retrieves a condom, and tears it open with his teeth.
Turns out I don’t need an answer, because as he kneels before me and rolls the condom on, he corrects, “Baby, we’ve been playing this game since I found your sweet little ass in my office, and you leaned back on that desk like you own it, and effectively told me to fuck off.” He lowers toward me, one hand bracing beside my body, the other gripping my hip as his blunt tip teases my opening. “But now? The game’s done.” All his momentum pauses, his only movement his chest brushing my breasts and his eyes, flicking between mine. “We aren’t playing it anymore. Are we?”
“No, we’re not,” I whisper. Honestly. Easily.
His throat bobs, and he drops his head to kiss me—a short, sweet press of his lips that spears right into my chest.
Then he pulls back and thrusts. All the way in.
Oh my?—
A primal groan spirals out of my chest, like his dick just punched the sound out of me. Is that even anatomically possible? I’m entirelyfull,stretched around him, aching with the abrupt invasion, reveling in the rawness of it all. My fingers dig into his solid chest, having flown there at some point.
“Thatta girl, squeezing me so damnwell.” The words are near-pained grunts, his eyes squeezed shut, that sinewed arm braced at my side trembling with restraint.
He retreats and thrusts deeply again. Another moan escapes me, and his eyes flash open. “Yeah,” he drawls,pulling out, then thrusting in again. “You’ve got no words.”
No, I don’t.
I clamp my mouth shut, holding the next cry in as he thrusts again, and again, his hand on my hip ensuring I meet every plunge.
“No, gorgeous,” he pants, moving in a steady rhythm now, pleasure stacking with each deep drag of his cock. His hand leaves my hip to cup my cheek. A stern thumb shoves into the corner of my mouth, urging my mouth open and staying there. “I’m gonna hear every pretty, nonsense sound you make.”
Those rough words alone yank another moan from me, and then my eyes close, my body lost to the feel of him, mouth braced open under his hand as he increases his speed. His breath pants out in a fast staccato, laced with low curses and grunts that prove he’s just as undone as me.
Without warning, that hand jerks out of my mouth and targets my clit. Twists. Presses. His sweaty forehead falls into my chest, hot breaths sweeping across my skin as he locks in, and I’m enveloped in the heat of him when the orgasm sweeps through me.
Spasming around him, I cry out. He removes his hand, hips now jerking wildly as he works for his own release. A few more seconds, and he’s coming, the muscles of his shoulders twitching as his tempo slows, then stops altogether.
Our heavy breaths mingle in the air, my chest heaving beneath his forehead, still pressed between my breasts. His sturdy body is a heavy, heated weight on my torso, comforting and soothing as my body finds its equilibrium.
When he finally lifts his head, pure male satisfaction colorshis golden gaze.
I wait for that satisfaction to morph into regret. Pray that it doesn’t, because I don’t think I could recover.
