McCoy's hands released my wrists, grabbing my ass instead, yanking me up until I had no choice but to reach out and grab him as he lifted me up, and started walking me toward the stairs.
I had no idea how he managed to ascend as his lips were on mine again, pressing, teeth nipping, tongue circling, but the next thing I knew, we were inside his room, and my back was slamming against the door as his lips ripped from mine, then started to kiss down my neck.
"I think I need more proof," I murmured, desperate to feel his hands on me, his weight on me.
The only answer I got to that was a deep, sexy growl that moved through him and vibrated into me as he turned and walked toward the bed. There was a short pause before I was flying backward. Before I even stopped bouncing on the mattress, McCoy's hands were grabbing the waistband of my shorts and panties, and dragging them down my legs.
Anticipation shivered over every last nerve ending as the cool air teased over my bare skin.
I figured he would spread my legs, would come over me.
But no.
Instead, his hands grabbed my ankles, sinking in, folding them over each other, then yanking, and rolling me onto my back.
It was only then that I felt the mattress depress as he lowered onto it, then leaned forward, his lips pressing a kiss at the small of my back, then moving upward. His hand grabbed my shirt, inching it up, his lips and tongue tracing each exposed bit of skin.
Once between my shoulder blades, he pressed back onto his heels, then reached for me, his hands sinking in at my sides, pulling me onto my hands, then back against his chest, allowing him to remove my shirt, then bra.
My head fell back against his shoulder, turning into his neck, taking a deep breath.
McCoy's hands slid down to my hips, then moved forward over my belly, then up until his hands covered my bare breasts.
"Better than dream me?" he asked, voice rough as his hips shifted forward, his hard cock pressing against my ass.
"Well... I thin—ah," I whimpered as his fingers grabbed my nipples and pinched hard enough to sting. I didn't expect the rush of need between my thighs at the pain, but there was no denying it either.
"McCoy..." I whimpered, my hips rocking against him.
"Yeah?" he asked, his tongue teasing down the side of my ear, then nipping the lobe.
"Please," I cried.
"Please what, babe?"
"Please, touch me," I demanded, my hand moving upward, grabbing his wrist, and guiding it down my belly, then pressing it between my thighs.
A growling noise escaped him as his fingers slid up my slick cleft, finding my clit, and circling it. "So wet for me," he rumbled in my ear, making my hips do a circle.
On an impatient groan, my hand pressed on top of his, guiding his thumb to my clit, and pressing his fingers downward.
"Please," I begged again, beyond anything even resembling pride. I was too far gone, too needy, too ready for him.
That growling noise moved through him again as his fingers tapped on the entrance to my body a few times before sliding in.
"So tight," he mumbled as my walls grabbed his fingers.
He wasted no time driving me upward, his fingers starting slow and steady, then faster and faster until I was writhing and whimpering.
"No!" I cried when I was just about pushed to the edge, and his fingers pulled out of me, left me completely. The disappointment was a sharp, aching sensation that had me trying to push his hand back down.
But McCoy refused to cooperate as he grabbed me and pushed me forward, grabbing my hips, and tossing me onto my back.
Before I could draw in a deep breath, his hands were spreading my thighs as he lowered down, sealing his mouth over me, licking, sucking, driving me right back to that edge.
And denying me yet again.
"McCoy," I cried, attempting to hold his face between my thighs, but he was determined to get away.
He wasn't the only one who could do some torturing, though, was he?
On that thought, I folded upward, getting to my knees in front of him, and letting my hands slide up his sides, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him down, sealing my lips to his.
My greedy hands moved downward, grabbing the hem of his tee, and drawing it upward, waiting for him to lift his arms so I could remove it completely.
Only then did I pull backward so I could watch as my fingers traced over his shoulders, down his arms, over his chest, then stomach. My fingers met the smooth, raised spots of scars, and traced over each of them a few times before moving along. His muscles twitched under my touch as his breathing got faster and more shallow.