“Fuck, Dallas.”
I haul her up onto the table by the hips as if I’m allowed to take her apart. Her breath stutters. She laughs, half wild, half shocked, and the sound drags heat straight to my cock.
Her head tips back instantly, throat bared, hair spilling everywhere. I want to wrap it around my fist, around my wrist, around her throat. I want her bent in every shape a body can fold into.
I drag the cups of her bra down, and her nipples tighten instantly, goosebumps racing over her skin before I even get my mouth on her.
When I bite, just a little, she gasps, arching off the table so hard the legs scrape.
All those soft, pretty noises she tries to swallow? I want every one. I want to pull them out of her until she can’t remember her own name.
Her hand fuses to my hair, holding me right where she wants me, but her other hand claws down my back, dragging me closer. Closer. She can’t stand an inch of air between us.
I kiss down her chest and work the button of her jeans. It catches once, and she giggles, a nervous, breathless, gorgeous sound, and I growl because I want her laughing when I ruin her too.
Then her jeans come off. Fast. Rough. The way she wants it.
Her thighs go around my waist and lock, dragging me against the heat of her. The slick heat of her. She’s trembling, already oversensitive, already desperate. I drop down and pry her knees open wider and trail my mouth up her inner thigh.
She jerks violently.
I love it.
She tastes of sweat and sweetness made for me, and when I slide two fingers inside her slowly, just to watch her face, she shatters. Her lips part. Her eyes roll. She breaks open right there, just from my hand, just from pressure and voice and need.
She’s soaked, gripping my fingers, trying to pull them deeper, and I curl my thumb up over her clit.
“D… Dallas,” she stammers, dissolving into a helpless sound that shoots straight through me.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
She tries.
She fails.
But I wait, coaxing her to the surface until she’s forced to see me, to know, to remember exactly whose mouth is wrecking her. Her entire body contracts. She mutters incoherently, maybe my name, and if she’s cursing me for this, I want double the dose.
When she comes, it’s all over her face, in the wild, silent O of her mouth, and the way she jerks, thighs clamping my head until I’m sure she’ll never let go. I lap her up, every noise and tremor, greedy as fuck.
And when her eyes finally find mine, wrecked, wanting, trusting, I nearly lose it.
She pulls me up hard, kissing me. She needs to taste what I did to her. Her hands fly to my belt. No finesse, no patience, and my breath catches when her fingers close around me.
I brace a hand on the table beside her head to keep from collapsing.
“Careful,” I rasp. “I’m close.”
She smirks. A wicked, bright thing. “Good.”
I hook my hands under her thighs, drag her to the edge, line up, and push in…
Shit.
The breath punches out of me.
She’s tight, hot, clinging to me. Her thighs crush my waist, pulling me deeper, and her nails scrape my back in lines that will show tomorrow.
I fuck her harder. She fucks me back just as hard. It’s frantic and messy, and so hard to stay quiet.
