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My fingers dance over the flare of her hips, over the base of her rib cage, over the swell of her breasts. I sit up, roll one perfectly pink nipple between my thumb and finger while my lips wrap around the other. Slick with arousal, she rubs her center over my length again and again, grinding and seeking and desperate.
Once I’ve paid equal attention to her breasts, she shoves me down on the mattress. I open my mouth to protest but stop when her fingers dip beneath the waistband of my briefs. With a swift shuffle down my thighs, she rips my briefs off and throws them behind her.
And then her warm tongue is on my cock, licking a torturous trail from root to crown.
A throaty moan spills from my lips as I fist her hair. “Goddamn, baby,” I hiss as she swirls her tongue around my crown once, twice, then swallows my length.
I feel her smile a second before she takes me deeper, her throat spasming as I hit the back.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I praise, rocking my hips in time with her. Fire licks my veins and swirls low in my balls. I open my mouth to tell her to stop if she doesn’t want me to come down her throat.
But before I get the chance, she releases me with a pop, kisses her way up my abs, and settles her hips over mine. And it is in this exact moment, I mentally berate myself.
“Condoms are in my bag,” I whisper. “Downstairs.”
She rolls her hips, coating the length of my cock with her arousal. “I’m on the pill.”
I palm her breasts and roll her nipples between my fingers. “Only if you’re sure, baby.”
Her hands cover mine, her fingers encouraging me to pinch harder, to tug her nipples. An unrestrained moan fills the cabin as I tweak her nipples with a little nail.
“God, yes.”
Up and down, she strokes the underside of my cock with her pussy. With a slap of her palms to my pecs, she digs her nails into my chest and sheaths me fully with her heat.
“Fuck…” I hiss as she takes me bare. Dropping my hands to her hips, I bruise her flesh with my grip. “Fuck me like you’re mine, baby.”
After a few rhythmic rocks of her hips, she sits taller, cups her breasts and twists her nipples, then bounces hard and fast and mercilessly up and down my cock. My eyes roll back as I meet her thrust for thrust.
Moans and skin slapping skin pulsate off every surface of the cabin. Sweat dampens her skin and shimmers in the faint moonlight peeking through the window at the head of the bed. I trail a thumb to her clit, circling that bundle of nerves, loving the flush that paints her skin in response.
Her hands drop to my rib cage as she shifts her hips and takes me at a different angle. Deeper.
I sit up, band one arm around her waist while the other pins her to my chest. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
On a guttural moan, she tips her head back and exposes her throat. I lift my hips as she slams down again and again, until her body starts to tighten.
“That’s it, baby. Let go.”
With those words, her pussy constricts my cock and refuses to let go, triggering my own release. And fuck, it is the most glorious sensation—coming inside her. Not a chance in hell I will have her any other way but bare again.
Her mouth crashes down on mine as we twitch with the last of our orgasms. Hands roam and caress and speak a language all their own. Her fingers drift up my neck and into my hair.
As we come down from our sex-induced high, as our breathing finds its normal rhythm, the kiss slows into something softer, more tender. Something I have always wanted. Something that terrifies me to no end.More.
But as much as I crave more with her, I refuse to acknowledge the hum in my veins. Refuse to own the buzz beneath my breastbone. Refuse to recognize the fire in my marrow. More than anything, I refuse to admit she has branded my soul.
Not now. Not yet.
Because the last time I handed over my heart fully, it was pulverized with a wicked smile.
TWENTY-NINE
KIRSTEN
Cocooned in a flannel blanket,I scoop Trixie up from the bed and swathe her to my chest. Little paws knead my shirt as she purrs loud enough for the guys to hear downstairs. After a scratch behind her ears, I kiss the top of her head.
“How about some breakfast, pretty girl?” Her motorboat of a purr intensifies. “Smells like Daddy is making sausage.”
