Page 113 of Unmanageable

Cash stills, his dark gaze searching mine, looking for even the slightest hint of hesitation. Finding none, a shudder rolls through him.

He lets the packet fall onto the mattress, and before I can react, he’s on me, kissing me hard—deep and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs with a rush of relief and barely restrained hunger.

“Good,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands cradling my face. “Because I don’t think I could stand anything between us right now. I need you—all of you.”

He positions himself at my entrance. He presses the thick head of his cock against my pussy, sliding just the tip inside to make me whimper before he draws back out.

“Cash, stop playing,” I laugh breathlessly, my hips chasing him. “Give it to me!”

“Ask nicely?” he taunts with a wicked grin, holding himself just out of reach.

“Please,” I groan, rolling my eyes and pulling him down by the back of his neck. “Please, you absolute idiot, just put your fucking cock inside me.”

“Such a brat,” he mutters affectionately.

He pushes forward, burying himself deep inside me inch by inch until he fills me completely. A gasp tears out of my throat, my hands flying up to grip his back as my body stretches around him.

He holds himself still inside me for a long, quiet second, our foreheads touching, our breathing syncing up in the dim light, before he begins to move.

The pace is slow at first. Deep. Every stroke pulls a broken, breathless moan out of my mouth.

As Cash starts moving faster, driving into me with a harder, rougher rhythm, the headboard of the bed slams backward against the wooden wall with a loud, rhythmic thud-thud-thud.

It is so aggressively cliché, so loud and ridiculous, that I let out a bright, helpless giggle right in the middle of a gasping moan.

“Oh, my God,” I laugh, throwing my head back against the pillows as the bed shakes violently beneath us. “Are we actually in a cliché romance novel right now? Is this a bad porn film, O’Connell? The headboard is so loud!”

“Unbelievable,” he groans, a breathless grin splitting his face. “I am in the middle of the most important moment of my entire life, and you’re mocking the acoustics.”

I giggle as I wrap my arms tighter around his neck.

“You are a menace,” he murmurs, shaking his head. He leans down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to my lips. “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re making fun of me.”

The pace shifts. The giggles fade into desperate gasps as the friction builds into something uncontrollable.

He grips my hips with both hands, his fingers bruising against my skin as he drives into me harder, faster, filling every single second of the room with the sound of our breathing and our bodies slamming together.

“Scottie—fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

The pressure builds too fast, too intensely, the weeks of tension and bickering and fighting finally snapping all at once.

“I’m so close,” I cry out, my hands tangling in his hair, my back arching off the mattress.

“Come for me, Scottie-girl,” he grunts, driving into me three more times, hard and deep, pushing me right over the edge.

A loud moan breaks out of my throat as the orgasm tears through my body. My pussy clenches around him, rhythmic and spasming, shattering his remaining control.

Cash lets out a low sound, his body seizing up as he drives himself deep inside me. He collapses forward, dropping his head into the hollow of my shoulder, his breath frantic against my skin.

We lie there for a long, quiet time, the only sound in the room being the synchronous cycle of our breathing, the headboard finally silent against the wall.

Slowly, gently, Cash shifts his weight, sliding out of the bed just long enough to slip into the bathroom and grab a warm, damp towel. When he comes back, he begins to clean me, his touch incredibly tender as he wipes my skin, following every stroke with the soft press of his lips against my hip, my thigh, my knee.

“You okay, Scottie-girl?” he murmurs, leaning up to look down at me, brushing a stray lock of red hair from my forehead.

“I’m great.” I smile. “You’re a decent client, O’Connell.”

“Decent?” He pauses, a dark eyebrow arching as he trails a thumb up my leg, sending a delicious shiver straight through my spine. “After all this premier service? I’m practically a five-star luxury resort on legs.”