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God, what had happened to him that made him say such a thing? From all appearances, Caine McKannon was intimidating and tough and hard, but Emma wondered how much of that was protection for some unhealed wound inside him. “Feel how wet I am, Caine.”
His fingers fell between her legs, stroking through her arousal. His middle finger penetrated her, and they both moaned as he stroked in and out. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
She arched at the teasing promise of his touch. “I’m just a normal girl, trying to seduce a boy.”
A freaking amazing boy. She hadn’t lied about that. Caine was an artist’s canvas come to life, with possibly more of his skin covered in ink than not. Abstract designs, single words and longer quotes she hadn’t yet read, a pair of angel wings over his heart with the word Grace. And so many others. He’d used some of his tattoos to cover scars—she could already see that. And then there were the piercings—little black spikes through his nipples, silver balls that appeared to be connected on either side of his clavicle bones, and a silver circle through his scrotum right below the base of his cock.
And she thought she’d been fascinated before…
The side of his mouth drew up, and the lopsided smile he gave her after all that seriousness filled her chest with a warm pressure. “Consider me seduced.” Kneeling between her thighs, he lined his cock up with her opening and slowly, so slowly, sank deep. “Jesus, Emma, to be inside you,” he rasped, holding himself still.
The raw pleasure on his face ratcheted up her arousal as she threw her head back and breathed through the amazing fullness of his invasion. It’d been five months since she’d last had sex with her summer fling, who’d moved to DC. “It’s so good, Caine.”
He withdrew almost to the tip before pushing back in. “Fuck, that looks amazing. My cock sliding into you.” He repeated the strokes, his gaze glued to the spot where their bodies met, his hands going to her thighs to push her open.
On a moan, she peered up at him, her gaze dragging over new details she noticed of his body. His stomach was hard and flat, the contour of his ribs was visible on his sides, and his broad shoulders and thicker biceps were more cut than he was elsewhere. His collar and hip bones were also visible. He possessed a hunger-pang frame full of hard planes and rough edges, and with every thrust, his muscles flexed in the most amazing way. Emma couldn’t wait to feel him lie atop her, but she was in no hurry to lose this view. “I feel the same way about seeing you above me while you’re holding me open and buried deep inside me.”
A visible shudder went through him, and knowing he was as worked up as she was spiraled sensation down her spine and low into her belly. His arms almost trembled as he took her in deliciously slow, grinding strokes that bottomed out inside her each and every time. He trembled as if he was holding himself back.
“I want whatever you want, Caine,” she said.
His gaze collided with hers, and those eyes were white-blue fire. “Everything about me is hard,” he gritted out.
“Show me,” she said.
“Fuck.” He came down on her then, one of his arms hooked under her knee, the other wrapping around her neck in a tight hold he used as leverage for an absolutely breath-stealing pounding. His hips snapped against her skin hard and fast enough that she expected bruises from his hip bones. His pubic bone crashed into her clit again and again, driving her wild. And those eyes blazed into her very soul.
Emma came. The orgasm detonated with a suddenness that made her whole body go rigid and shake. She clung to him as his cock moved in her, drawing out her pleasure until her vision went fuzzy around the edges.
“Christ, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice full of gravel. “Gonna make me come too fast.”
“Want you to come,” Emma managed, her heart a freight train in her chest.
Caine’s mouth fell on hers in an aggressive, demanding kiss. And then he changed positions, pressing her wrists to the floor, holding himself above her, and penetrating her with hammering, punctuated thrusts that moved them across the blanket and, impossibly, stirred arousal within her core again.
He knocked Emma’s breath out of her on every stroke until she was crying out and straining and writhing in a rhythm that matched his movements. No one had ever taken her this hard, and the intensity of it was a mind-blowing revelation. Being twenty-seven and single meant that Emma had a collection of vibrators, porn clips, and erotic novels that got regular use. She’d always been drawn to depictions of rough sex, but never before found someone who could do more than play at it. Now, she knew for sure—she got off on it as much in real life as in fantasy.
