He looked down at closed eyes, her expression one of bliss.
He could do better than that.
“Need you naked.”
The sound she made wasn’t one of disagreement. Mouths crashing into each other again, tongues entwining, he tore at her sleep shorts. She let him. She let him roughly remove them, lifting her bottom to aid his efforts and then welcoming him between her thighs.
Goddamn, his only thought was getting inside her, like a horny teenager; naked flesh to naked flesh, her breasts smashed against his chest. Fumbling between them, he unbuttoned his jeans—the zipper almost came down itself as his erection pushed forth. He heard her gasp, and he grinned down at her.
Yeah, sweetheart, all for you.
He removed a condom from his jeans pockets before he hurriedly removed his garments. He watched in delight as her eyes roamed over his nudity; her expression mirroring her want. But he already knew she wanted him; her body told him long before her eyes did.
It was sort of unfair how he could read her despite herself.
Didn’t care, as long he was allowed to get out of her what he wanted.
This:her moaning beneath him, looking at him with need, desire, and lust with just enough shyness to make him even harder. But she wasn’t a wilting flower; she pressed up against him, kissed him hungrily, ran her hands over him, pulling him to her, her nails alternately scraping and embedding.
He shoved her shirt up and grasped one of her perfect breasts, sucking hard at the nipple, nipping the tip, squeezing the soft flesh, which had her grasping at his head and gasping out his name.
He fuckinglovedhearing his name on her lips.
He gave her other breast the same attention, and she tilted her pelvis beneath him, which made him grin again, nipple tugged between his teeth. She wanted him inside her.
Same, sweetheart.
Moving up her body, kissing and sucking as he went, teasing her by pressing against her entrance, he met her lips and kissed her. Might have crossed the line with kissing her, but it was such a pleasurable line to cross, taking possession of her mouth, entwining with her tongue, commandeering her lips. He pulled back and waited for her to open her eyes.
Frustration, concern and desperation swirled in her hazel orbs when she did.
“Tell me what you want.”
Her uncertainty was written all over her face.
Damn him for instilling that in her.
His eyes narrowed as she searched his face, her breaths coming in pants, her skin hot against his, her hands gripping him at his waist. With a slight roll of his hips, he pressed insistently, and her legs widened beneath him. “Come on, talk to me.”
As though the admission hadn’t been a foregone conclusion, as though it cost her something, she whispered hoarsely, “You.”
God, his heart squeezed. How many other women had claimed the same, but the words had been meaningless for him; empty? Merely a boost to his ego and nothing more? A trophy to carry in his mind afterward of,you got that right.Not her. Her admission was won; earned. It was more than vanity with her. He shoved the sensation aside as he replied cockily, “Damn straight.” And he pushed into her, burying himself.
Her face registered surprise as she sucked in air and tensed beneath him. Her fingers dug into his hips as she turned her face away, tucking in her bottom lip as she shifted beneath him.
Mac grimaced, too; he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but fuck, he’d needed to be inside her; all the way inside her. He dropped his head to hers and whispered, “You’re a fucking dream, Day.” He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to start pounding into her, allowing her time to adjust to him.
But moments later, she let him know she was ready with the slightest movement of her hips, a relaxation of her fingers that had her subtly pulling at him. With a groan, he slid out and then slowly thrust back in, watching her. She shuddered; her walls convulsed around him, and her hands found their way to his ass to press him into her.
Fuck yeah.
In and out, slowly, tight, hot, her grasping hands, her tiny sounds going straight to his cock. She tossed beneath him, planting her feet against the mattress and lifting toward him, attempting to take him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust. The sound of their bodies colliding and their labored breathing filled the room. And he pushed deeper, rougher, picking up his pace.
He didn’t want this to end.
He wanted to lose himself in her explosion.
A wicked conundrum.