Bet The Farm - Staci Hart Page 0,69

at the hem of my tank, and he leaned out of the way, watching his hand slide up my torso as my skin was revealed, pausing when my breasts were exposed. I was too busy pulling it off to notice he’d stilled, his eyes drinking in what they found. For a handful of heartbeats, I didn’t move, only watched him watch me. And then I reached for him.

His lips found me first, then came the glorious press of his flesh against mine. I fumbled for his belt, pushing his pants over the swell of his ass. I felt him before I saw him, the weight of his length resting between my legs. With a satisfied sigh, I slipped my hand between us, held him in my palm as best I could, learned the shape of him with hungry fingertips. Another moan from him, a flex into my hand.

That sound—the sound of his pleasure—the feel of him against me, and my core pulsed once against nothing, anticipating him. And then it was him who couldn’t wait.

A shuffle and a yank of my shorts, and there was nothing between us at all. He settled his hips between my thighs, kissing me still as his hands roamed, circled, stroked. And his lips followed. He rolled to his side, our legs tangled, gaining access to my neck, the dip of my throat, the tight peak of my nipple with the warmth of his mouth, his hand holding my breast where he wanted it. My hands didn’t stay still either, finding his length again. I couldn’t think with his mouth on me like that, with his fingertips that wandered south again, tracing the curve of my ass, my hip before slipping between my legs to return the favor.

And then there was nothing to do but hold him in my hand and feel his in me. He traced the rippling flesh between my thighs, taking his time with the tip of my desire, knowing where to stay by the unrecognizable sounds I made. I felt the creeping tingle of heat spread from low in my belly, up to my heart. Racing up the column of my neck, down my arms and legs, and I leaned back, laying a hand on his heaving chest. Because this was not the way I was going to come, not the first time.

He didn’t stop as I panted up at him, my lids fighting to stay open as my purpose flitted in and out of conscious thought, which had been slim to start.

“Mmm, wait,” I whispered.

His hand paused in its track. Mine found its way back to him.

“This. Not that,” I mumbled, shifting to bring a knee up and angling him for me.

That goddamn smile. “Let me get a—”

He started to move for his dresser, and I stopped him with a stroke and the shake of my head. “Safe. And if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to come without you.”

It wasn’t a lie, and he didn’t fight me, just kissed me with those smiling lips and let me do what I would. I charted the line of my core with the tip of him—the kiss stopped. He breathed against my lips, his hand gripping my hip as the cleft of his crown slid over that aching peak, then down again, to the dip that longed to be filled by him.

With a long, slow flex, he slid into me.

I sighed, rolling my hips, arching my back until only his crown remained. And I took him again until he was fitted in me, grinding to press that place, the key to my pleasure.

A moan, and he rolled us onto my back. I urged him closer as I raced to the edge, wanting to feel the weight of him pressing me into the bed, wanting to feel all of him as my senses climbed, my awareness rushing to the point where we connected. I wanted him, all of him. His pleasure and his pain, his trust and his heart. Because no one would care for him like I could. No one could heal him like I would, this broken man with everything to give and no one to give it to.

I felt the longing, the need, the relief in him with every thrust of his hips, with every drag of his lips against my skin. He wanted all of me too.

As far as I was concerned, he could have me.

A hard thrust and a shift. I was caged, my pulse quickening.

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