“Weston!”
“Weston, what?” he said. From the sound of his voice, I knew he was wearing his favorite shit-eating grin. The one he liked to tease me with. The one that secretly drove me wild.
Need pulsed through me. “Don’t stop.”
“Or what?” he asked. “What are you going to do about it?”
I was going to combust, that’s what. But not in the way I wanted. Not in the way Ineeded.
I reached down my body, sliding past the sticky, chocolatey mess he’d left behind on my belly to get to my clit. If he wouldn’t touch me, then I’d touch myself.
But before I could reach that ache between my thighs, he caught my hand, holding it out of reach. Then he caught my other hand, pinning them both above my head.
I squirmed in protest, pouting as he lowered his head to press a kiss to my lips. He tasted like shortbread, his breath sweet, his tongue sugary.
“I need you,” I said, the words almost a sob as I attempted to rock my hips against his leg. The pressure was enough to keep me on edge, but not enough to push me over. I groaned as his hard cock pressed against my hip. “Please.Please.”
“That’s it,” he said. “I like it when you beg.” He released me long enough to dig a condom from the drawer in the nightstand. He rolled onto his side, tearing open the wrapper with his teeth before rolling the condom onto his cock.
I reached for him, half dazed, wrapping my hand around his girth, feeling the weight in my hand as I squeezed.
Weston grunted, rolling back over me, lining up the tip of his cock at my entrance. My hips parted, my breath coming in short pants as I anticipated the delicious stretch. “Yes,” I said as he teased me, barely slipping inside. “God,please.”
“Beg for it,” he whispered into my ear, his accent rolling in a way that made me dizzy. I wanted him to whisper sweet nothings to me like that all day. Every day. “Beg for your release.” He hovered over me, biceps bulging as he balanced his weight. I clung to his shoulders, staring down between us as his hips jerked, inching his cock forward.
My head spun. “Yes, Weston!”
“Tell me what you want,” he said, seating himself a little deeper. I wanted more. I wanted him to move.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded.
“Louder, Lena.”
“Jesus, Weston!” I couldn’t take it anymore. “I need you to fuck me!” I shouted it, refusing to be embarrassed about anyone misfortunate enough to walk by his door.
He lowered to his forearms, his grin turning cocky as he pressed his mouth to my cheek, snapping his hips forward, burying himself in that space between my legs.
“Yes,” I hissed. The pressure was so good, and all I could do was moan and beg him not to stop.
Harder.
Faster.
I wanted him deeper.
“That’s it,” he said, shifting to rub my clit. “Take what you want.”
My thoughts grew fuzzy, focused only on my pleasure as I ground myself against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Take it,” he said again, wrapping his free hand around my hip and squeezing my ass, encouraging me to rock against the pressure of his fingers.
I chased the sensation like a woman possessed. My entire body tightened in anticipation, and I released a throaty groan as he seated himself deep. That combined with the pressure on my clit finally tipped me into my orgasm. My head filled with fuzzy pleasure as I jerked beneath him, lost to a wave I never wanted to end.
Weston’s breathing grew ragged, his hand shifting to grip my hip, his fingers digging into my ass. But even the sting of pain felt incredible, and I moaned loudly as he thrust into me, chasing the ripples of my orgasm with his own. My head was stillswimming when he finally cried out, collapsing onto me like a weighted blanket.
His post-orgasm weight was comforting, warm, and I clutched him against my chest, content to float in the cloud of bliss we’d created. My eyes closed, drifting into a post-coital nap.
When the hazy sex fog lifted, I opened my eyes to find that the sunlight in the room had faded from golden to pink, the last of the sunset clinging to the walls.
