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His fingers start a slow torture, sliding from my bud down to where I’m wettest, pulling a groan from his throat. “Wet for me already,” Fallon rasps. He dips his finger inside me and makes another harsh male noise. “Can’t wait to have my cock in there.”
His words are doing almost as much for me as his hand is. The grass is soft beneath me, the sky blue above. I smell nothing but fresh, clean air, Fallon, and my own arousal. I want him so badly everything aches. My heart thumps when I think of that big, beautiful cock sliding in and out of me—just like his finger is doing right now. He fits another digit inside me, using his thumb to tease my bud.
This is happening too fast. No—too slow. I can’t think. Can’t process this.
My hips roll toward him of their own volition, causing Fallon to smile. “You are so fucking hot when you start losing control, Jen.”
“I’m not losing control.” I gasp when he pumps his fingers into me, pleasure arcing between my thighs.
“No?” Fallon grins, eyes still on mine. “I must not be doing my job, then.”
His hand slides out from my panties and I feel so unbearably empty without his fingers inside me. Hooking his hands into my waistband, Fallon rips my pants and underwear off my legs in one swift movement. Then he’s between my legs, his lips trailing kisses from one hip to the other as I writhe beneath him. Those dextrous fingers tease my folds again, circling my clitoris before diving back inside me—just as Fallon puts his lips on my bud.
When he sucks the bundle of nerves and flicks his tongue over it, his fingers delving deep inside me, an orgasm crashes into me. My back bows as my lips fall open with a cry, Fallon’s name on my tongue. My fingers dig into the dirt at my sides, nails embedded in the earth. He growls in satisfaction, not stopping his ministrations until I push his head away, dazed and limp.
Fallon kneels between my legs, his eyes on my center. He licks his lips, tasting me again with a satisfied groan. “You taste so good I could do that every day and never get sick of it.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say on a sigh.
Fallon’s lips curl, and then he’s reaching into his pocket. From his wallet, he pulls out a condom, eyes flicking to mine as if to ask if I still want this.
A thousand thoughts fill my head—about vulnerability, distractions, winning, succeeding—but I can’t quite catch the threads to think logically. All I know is whips of pleasure are still lashing my body, and Fallon’s eyes are promising more.
So after what he just did to me? Hell yes, I still want this.
When I nod, reaching for his belt, Fallon closes his eyes with a groan. Then he’s helping me, pushing his pants down to mid-thigh so his pulsing erection can spring free.
My heart bangs against my ribs when I’m reminded of his size. I suck in a breath, smelling fresh grass and pine and Fallon. Sitting up, I wrap my hand around his shaft and pump, watching with fascination as moisture beads at the tip.
“Jen.” Fallon’s watching me through half-lidded eyes, lips parted and still glistening from my orgasm. He uses one of his broad hands to push my chest back down so I’m nestled in the soft grass. “Spread open for me, kitten.”
Blushing, I let my knees fall open completely. Fallon groans, watching me with such fierce possession that I might come just from him looking at me. Eyes still on me, he rips the condom packet open and rolls the latex over his erection, holding the condom at the base for a moment, as if he’s trying to stop himself from spilling already.
Gaze flicking up to mine, Fallon just shakes his head. “You’re so fucking perfect, Jen.” His hand smooths over my thigh with such gentle reverence that—for what feels like the first time in my life—I actually believe him.
Then he’s using those strong hands to tug me forward and position me where he wants me. The head of his cock is nudging against my opening, and my heart is in my throat.
This is happening. After everything, after all the heartache and rejection and hard decisions, Fallon and I somehow ended up together here.
I wonder if it was inevitable. We’ve circled around each other for so long, gotten to know each other’s quirks and moods through work, shared blazing kisses and lots of hurt. But he came back—and it wasn’t because he wanted coffee from Four Cups.
When Fallon pushes my shirt up so he can sweep his broad palm over my stomach, memorizing my curves and taking in the sight of my half-clothed body, a single, clear thought clangs through me:
We belong together.
Then, Fallon’s eyes dip between my legs, and he enters me with a slow, unyielding thrust. Gasping at the stretch, I arch my back, body locking up until Fallon ducks his head down to my breast, nudging my bra aside so he can lave my nipple with his tongue. His hand dives between us so he can tease my bud, and pleasure starts to mount inside me. My body goes soft, hips rolling of their own accord, hands clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his shirt.
When I try to pull his shirt off, Fallon growls, thrusting inside me hard. I moan, eyes rolling back. Fallon uses my distraction to pin my wrists above my head, his huge body covering mine as he drives inside me to the hilt. I meet him thrust for thrust, breathless.
I’ve wasted my entire life thinking sex wasn’t for me. I’ve settled for so much less than I could have—and this is proof. Pleasure gushes through my veins, and all I can do is say Fallon’s name over and over and over. He growls with pleasure at the sound of it.
“Told you you’d be screaming my name.” He thrusts hard as if to underscore the point.
“Arrogant jackass,” I pant, back arching.
Shifting both my wrists to one hand, Fallon uses the other to lift my knee for better access. I’m totally under his control, at his mercy.
And I love it.
