He pulled down the cups of my bra, bit at my neck, pressed his teeth into the flesh of my breast, and then grazed his teeth on my nipple. Sparks ignited in my belly, and flashes of need shot between my legs. I lifted my pelvis, shamelessly trying to get closer to him, needing to feel him against me, wanting to let him know how much I needed him.
“Madison,” he groaned, rocking against me.
I fumbled between us, needing to release him, wanting him inside me as soon as possible, needing that connection, wanting him as close as he could be. Like desperate teenagers, we grabbed at zips and buttons and pushed and pulled at electric blue Lycra until finally I could feel him against my thigh, hot and throbbing and as needy for me as I was for him.
There was nothing slick about the way he wanted me. It was messy. Unchoreographed. And it was precisely because this version of Nathan was so far away from the player image the public saw—the image my own mother did so much to create—that made it so right. The man between my thighs, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and one leg in his jeans, was exactly who I needed. Nathan Cove, the man who didn’t quite feel worthy despite his success, the man who needed me to see deep down into his soul, the man who wanted me just as much as I wanted him.
Finally, his fingers found my heat. The way he bit out the word fuck let me know that I was really as wet as I thought I was. “You’re so ready for me,” he rasped.
“Always,” I said, taking his hand and encouraging his fingers inside me.
“Is that what you want?” he asked. “My fingers inside you?” He stole another hot, needy kiss as he pushed inside me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a groan, but the sound hardly captured how good it felt. “Two can get so deep,” he said, pushing in. I grabbed his shoulder, trying to force myself to breathe. “So, so deep.” He circled and curled his fingers and my heart banged against my ribcage, as if it was serving a life sentence and just wanted one last chance at freedom.
He sank a third finger inside me, stretching me so wide I couldn’t catch my breath. I dug my nails into his shoulder and he held my gaze, never faltering.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
And as if his words had some magic power to tip me over the edge, I started to come. The pulsing started in my stomach and radiated out until every inch of my skin was vibrating. I floated higher and higher, the climax so intense I couldn’t do anything but look at him as he coaxed my orgasm from me, teasing it, stretching it out so it went on and on, lasting for what seemed like weeks.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said to me as I started to recover.
“Nathan,” I said, unsure as to what had just happened.
“So beautiful,” he repeated.
I reached up and pulled off my bra fully and pushed his shirt over his shoulders as he kicked off his jeans. I needed his flesh touching mine without interference. As he kneeled up to take off his shirt, I pushed him to a sitting position and straddled him again.
Me, beautiful? He was one to talk. I pressed my fingers across his collarbone, up his neck, and along his jaw. “How did you end up with eyelashes like that?”
A grin nudged at the edges of his mouth. “What?”
I laughed. “They’re wasted on you. Do you have a condom?”
He pulled his wallet from the side table and I took out a condom, sliding back to give me room to roll it over his jutting cock. It started to rear as I tore open the wrapper, like an impatient stallion, eager to gallop. I smoothed it on and gave him a squeeze just below the crown, then rose on my knees, positioning his tip so I could sink on to it. We both moaned as I lowered myself down, rocking to get him as deep, as close to me, as I could.
“You feel so good inside me. Like that’s where you’re meant to be,” I said, pressing one hand against his chest, the other around his neck. “I don’t want to move.”
His hands found my hips and he shifted me backward and forward in small, smooth movements, creating just the right amount of friction. I was content to let him position my body as he needed, and quickly discovered that our needs were the same.
He glanced sideways. “Even your reflection is completely fuckable,” he said. I followed his eyeline and saw our merged shadows in his glass window: the point of my nipples, the swell of my bottom, his large hands around my waist. I started to move with him now, watching as our intertwined bodies undulated in unison, like reeds in a river or grass in the wind. I tipped my head back and he caught my hair in a tug, roughly holding me in place while he scraped his teeth down my neck and across my chest.