“Oh, you just thought you’d bring me to the most romantic place in the world to someone like me and I wouldn’t want to rip your clothes off?”
He panted a laugh and fumbled the wallet he’d just fished out of his jeans pocket. “I didn’t think past telling you how I feel and hoping like hell it would mean something to you.” He picked the wallet back up and ripped credit cards out one by one, his shaking hands dropping them everywhere. “Swear to God, the one time it counts and I can’t be smooth to save my life.”
Hannah had a playlist consisting of 308 love songs and not one of them could describe this moment accurately. Not even close. Realizing she loved this man while he ripped his wallet apart looking for protection, his hair falling into his eyes, muscles heaving under ink and a light layer of sweat. Sunset lit the car in a deep orange, and she felt that rich color spread inside her chest, too, where her heart battled to keep up with the love that bloomed freely and wildly, a lot like the spring storm creating warm, white noise around the car.
I love him. I love him.
But then. Fox ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolled it down his abundant length, forearms flexing in the golden glow of sunset, his jaw going slack while looking at the place between her legs with anticipation—and lust came roaring back to the forefront. As soon as he was covered, they dove for each other once more, not a hint of restraint in their kisses. They were skin to skin, weathered man of the sea pressing down on her softness, one hand separating them briefly to bring the thick head of his sex to the entrance of Hannah’s.
And then he pushed inside her in one slow, smooth motion, rocking home.
Hannah hissed out a breath and dug her fingernails into his hips, blindsided by the ripple of unequaled pleasure that sped through her and pulled taut.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “More.”
As if the feel of her was unexpected, Fox heaved a curse and slapped his hand down on the rapidly fogging window above her head. “Jesus Christ, so hot and tight.” He reared his hips back and punched forward, making a low sound of misery, a shudder passing through his frame. “No. Dammit.” His body flexed with tension on top of her. “Stay still. Stay still. Wasn’t kidding when I said I can’t be smooth with you. Then you have to go and feel so fucking perfect . . .”
“You feel pretty smooth to me,” she said on a jagged exhale, bearing down around him with her inner walls. Milking his thickness with her femininity. “Mmmm. Please. Fox.”
“Please stop, Hannah, stop . . .” As if he couldn’t control it, his lower body ebbed back and rolled forward sinuously, filling her slowly, touching all different spots along the way, and she cried out, drawing blood on his hips. “I’ve just needed you so fucking long,” he gritted out.
“You don’t think I love that?” She trailed her touch inward and gripped his flexed buttocks, slowly rocked him deeper, lifting her hips at the same time, earning a long, hoarse sound from his throat. “You don’t think I love feeling the proof of how bad you need me?”
“You want it, I’ll give it to you,” he rasped, rolling their foreheads together, kissing her roughly, tangling their tongues. “You want anything, I’ll give it to you.”
“Show me how badly I make you need to come.”
His nostrils flared, his eyes closing—and when he opened them back up, there was a trace of the devil in them. And she loved being trapped in the eye of that male determination. She loved the way his upper lip curled, his forearms crowding close on either side of her head, his mouth dropping to an inch above hers. “Knees up, Hannah.” He pulsed inside her, pupils blocking out the blue of his eyes. “Let’s see how deep I can get it before you scream.”
Spoiler: it didn’t take very long.
Dutifully, eagerly, she brought her knees up, grazing them along his rib cage and locking them high on his torso. His next thrust made her eyes roll back in her head, the second one making her squirm out of pure confusion. How and what was he reaching inside her that seemed to unlock some undiscovered force? Pressure rode low and threaded through her core, knitting her together so tightly, she couldn’t think or breathe, the roof of the car looking more and more like the gates to heaven. With his open, grunting mouth on her neck, he rode her roughly, yet somehow cherishingly at the same time, his tongue and lips continuously worshiping her throat, his mouth finding hers to swallow her screams. Yes, she was screaming his name, and he was, indeed, as deep as possible, scooping her hips off the seat with hard drives that quickened, roughened, going faster and faster. His body flattened her, using the flesh between her legs in the most deliciously frantic way, as if desperate for her to acknowledge his desire—and she did.