Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,70

better,” he murmurs into my mouth as his rough palm caresses my tender, swollen flesh.

I arch my back as his thumb swirls around my oversensitized nipple, breaking our kiss and allowing Wes to suck and nip his way along my jaw and neck.

I can feel him pressed against me through his sweatpants, so reaching between us, I slide my fingers into his waistband and shimmy it down over his swollen length. Hot, velvety flesh fills my hand, and I lick my lips as I pump him slowly.

“Fuck,” Wes growls, his teeth scraping my collarbone as he grabs my ass with both hands again. “I want you just like this.”

I squeal as he pushes away from the door, tightening my grip around his broad shoulders as he crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. I land on his lap with my knees spread on either side of him and moan when he bends me backward and pulls one straining pink nipple into his mouth. His heavy cock presses against my slippery center, and my hips grind against it instinctively, needing more.

Wes’s tongue swirls and flicks and sucks until my breasts begin to tingle and burn.

“Wes!” I hiss, trying to pull away, but he only chuckles and continues his assault. Milk drips from my other nipple and down my breast as I grab his head and try to pull him off me. “Wes, you’re gonna get milk in your—”

Holding my stare with blazing emerald eyes, Wes slowly drags the flat of his tongue over my nipple, collecting every drop of milk that falls.

Swallowing, he brings his lips back to my mouth. “I told you …” he rasps, lifting my ass until the head of his cock drags through my folds and presses against my entrance. “I want you just … like … this.”

I sink down onto him as he claims my mouth, swirling and exploring with his expert tongue as he guides my body up and down his length. I run my fingers through his hair and cup his chiseled face in my hands as I kiss the mouth that he worships me with.

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve a love like this. It overwhelms me, filling me up until I spill over, milk dripping from my breasts and tears cascading down my cheeks as I come again and again into the night.

But my husband doesn’t care. He licks up every drop that I spill and fills me up again.

That’s the thing about life after April 23. When you fall in love at the end of the world, you live every day like it’s your last.

At least, until the baby wakes up.

I hope you enjoyed The Rain Trilogy! If you did, I think you’ll love SKIN. It’s a gritty, taboo, forbidden love story full of ’90s nostalgia, dark humor, and heart-wrenching teenage angst. Plus, the entire 44 Chapters About 4 Men series is being adapted into a steamy dramedy for Netflix called Sex/Life! Read on for a sneak peek!

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SKIN

Chapter One

Positive, positive, positive.

It was my first day of tenth grade, and I was not going to be nervous. I was going to think deliriously happy, positive thoughts. I was going to skip down the familiar halls of Peach State High School with a bounce in my steel-toed step and a self-confident smirk on my face because this was going to be the year that Lance Hightower finally proclaimed his undying love for me. It just had to be.

I wasn’t going to beat myself up about the fact that I had been trying and failing to make out with that boy since middle school, nor was I going to focus on the fact that I still had zero breasts at the age of fifteen. No, I was going to fantasize about all the wildly spontaneous, highly public ways Lance might choose to propose. After all, I’d just learned—thanks to my dad’s unhealthy obsession with watching CNN—that it was totally legal for teenagers to get married in Georgia as long as they had written permission from one of their parents. That wouldn’t be a problem for me, seeing as how I’d perfected my mom’s signature by the age of twelve.

I was also feeling pretty damn good because I knew I’d picked out the perfect back-to-school outfit. My trademark black combat boots and wingtip eyeliner were firmly in place; I was rocking some kick-ass black spiderweb fishnets under my favorite pair of too-short-for-school cutoff jeans; my gray midriff T-shirt boasted the