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Holy shit, this is hot.
Like Hollywood romance blockbuster sexy.
One hand rolls up my hip, holding me in place, while his other finds the bottom of my top and flips it up. When he notices I’m not wearing a bra, a hoarse noise catches in his throat.
Then his palm cups my breast and goes to work.
It’s insane that I’m still standing as I wrap my legs around him, grinding more firmly against his erection.
My head spins from how good it is.
When he pinches my nipple, I press my lips to his neck so I can only make one sound.
“Shepherd!” His name tears out of me, equally curse and prayer.
Yes, yes, holy hell, yes.
Don’t stop.
Not even for the apocalypse.
I yank my top off, feeling the cool air against my bare breasts. He does the same with his shirt a second later.
Then we’re warm, hungry skin on skin, and possibly the most erotic thing ever.
I rock against him again, wondering if I can come from this friction alone.
That alone is insane, but again, so is every part of this.
He kisses me again, hard and demanding.
Honestly, I’m thrilled tobedemanded with such brute energy.
Happier still to dig at his shoulders, sinking my nails in, really feeling him.
And when he reaches down and opens my shorts, pushing them down my legs in one rough jerk, I’m beyond ecstatic.
This is it.
There’s no coming back from this, and baby, I don’t want to.
Next thing I know, we’re tumbling down in a clearing between the thickest brush. I’m so riled I don’t sweat missing a blanket.
Dead leaves crunch against my back as we roll, but I don’t care.
Not when he’s thunder incarnate, teasing one moan out after the next.
Not when my breasts are aching and my core is pure liquid and I need him inside me now.
Now.
“Shepherd,” I whine.
I don’t recognize my own voice.
He snarls a response, then drags his own pants down, freeing his cock.
It snaps out like a lethal weapon, pulsing and veiny and dangerously hard, a bead of liquid already at the tip.
