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My legs open wider.
I can’t help myself.
I have to wrap myself around him right now.
Even as sleek and elegant as his build is, even with the sharp taper from his broad shoulders down to a narrow waist and punishing hips, he’s still too wide for me.
I have to strain to wrap my thighs around him, locking my ankles against his back, and oh God, now I’m ruining his slacks because I’m so open.
That thick, angry ridge of his cock pushes against his slacks, rubbing against my dripping opening.
“Elle, fuck,” he whispers.
I’m panting.
I know he can’t stand the anticipation either.
He almost fucks me right through the fabric, taunting my naked flesh, soaking me as I throw myself into it, practically riding me as his hold throws me up and down in rhythm.
Tossed by the storm, I throw my head back, clinging to him and arching my back and letting myself swirl into this whirlpool of mad pleasure.
I can’t stop my moans, my whimpers.
They’re louder as his mouth descends on mine and then finds new targets.
My neck. He covers my racing pulse in sucking kisses and sharp bites.
My collarbones.
My breasts.
His mouth closes ravenously over my nipples, and he sucks them one at a time with such obsessive intensity they swell in seconds.
I grit my teeth, fighting for control, because all I want to do is scream.
Every draw of his mouth hits the sweet spots that make me flutter, hurling me straight to the edge.
Can you come from just this?
God, this feels so dirty, and I love it.
Arching in his grip, my breasts go tender hot with the sensation.
I grind against him while his cock pushes into me even with the fabric still in the way, this weird but wonderful sensation of wet cloth and braising heat.
Growling, he spreads me open, dipping inside like a flirting kiss, strangling every word on my lips until there’s nothing left but wanting.
I want him so bad, and I can’t flipping wait.
Pulling myself back, I let go of him with one hand and slide it down between us, taking a moment to savor the delicious strain of his muscles against his shirt before I find his zipper and drag it down.
His thick, musky maleness wafts out, a scent so earthy it immediately overwhelms me in the best way.
Past the slit of his boxers, I find hot flesh—if only my fingers weren’t shaking so much.
August shudders against me, silent and electrified.
I regain enough control to wrap my fingers around him, telling him with my touch what I can’t find the words to say.
