Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,75

the taste of her and then retreating just enough to drive her wild before diving back in for more.

I’m a starved madman with the knowledge that I will never, ever be able to give this up. Realizing that while face-deep in Amelia? Drives me even crazier, and now, my mouth isn’t enough.

It’s not enough just to taste her. I need to feel her.

Keeping one hand gripping her waist, I free my other to add friction to this pleasure. One finger pushes into her warm channel, then another, desperately seeking the impending release that will free me from the bounds of my own chains and let me fuck her.

Amelia stumbles slightly as my fingers piston in and out, my thumb sliding up and down, pressing her clit, circling it, flicking it, in a plethora of movements to keep her on her toes. One of her hands still fists my hair; the other joins my thumb on her clit. I smile against her pussy. She’s so fucking ready.

Her cries and moans create a beautiful symphony around us in the cave. She’s close. So god damned close. But my cock’s a bastard, and though a better man would let her reach that state of bliss right now, I’m not feeling all that charitable. Not when Amelia’s pressing her hips to my face, practically begging without saying the words. Not when her glorious pussy dampens in my mouth by the second, by the stroke, until her clit throbs. Certainly not when my cock swells and pulses to the point of pain with each taste, each touch, begging for its own sampling.

Amelia must read my mind. Her nails dig into my shoulder just as the walls of her pussy start to constrict around my fingers.

I retreat with haste, withdrawing my hand after one last plunge and my lips after one final graze of her clit.

Those nails dig even deeper into my flesh. Pain scores through me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood. Not that I mind. If the world sees the way she scratched up my back, they’d know the truth I’m only now beginning to realize.

I’m hers.

Wholly. Undeniably. Irrevocably.

I’m fucked.

Green, hooded eyes watch me as I slowly rise to my feet until I tower over her. My thumb and my forefinger find the gentle cleft of her chin until our eyes lock.

“Knox,” she pants, practically begs, and Christ, she’s said my names numerous times during our foreplay, but it hasn’t ever sounded sweeter than this breathless whisper.

My hands encircle her waist, and she rises onto her tiptoes to meet my lips. She whimpers as I only let her give me a gentle brush before I shake my head.

“Want up you here, baby,” I tell her.

My girl does exactly as she’s told, hopping into my arms and allowing me to lift her. As if we’re meant for this position, she effortlessly wraps her legs around my waist, the sultry heat of her entrance teasing the length of my shaft. She’s so fucking drenched, so fucking ready, and with one swift move, my cock comes into contact with her swollen bud then shifts down to nudge its way inside her tight depths.

Just like that. Like we’re meant to fit together this way. Like she’s made for me in a way I’m uncertain any other woman is.

Amelia wastes no time sinking onto me. She wraps her arms around my neck, her elbows resting on my shoulders, her hands on my head, her hips going mad with desire even as I try to hold her still with my cock buried to the hilt.

I’m torn between wanting this to be unhurried, slow, and tortuous, and needing to become the frenzied fucking animal that’s threatening to unleash inside me.

Amelia makes my mind up for me. Fingers tighten in my hair, yank my head back until I’m staring up into her fierce eyes, which flash with desire. “Fuck me, Knox. Fuck me now or I swear—”

The answering crash of my lips on her and the ensuing clash of our tongues drown out her order. It’s enough to make my girl go crazy. She lifts her hips, removing herself off my cock then slamming back down onto me with such force that I have to plant my feet. She’s wild, like a fucking bucking bronco, except in this case, all she wants to do is ride and I have no plans of throwing her off.

I don’t know if it’s Mother Nature, the force of the storm, or the power