her backside hit his thighs. “Oh God. So big.”
“That’s right. I got big . . .” Eyes glazed, he licked at her mouth. “And you got tight. That’s why you’re going to spend a lot of time with your panties hanging off one ankle.”
Out of necessity, Georgie shifted to find a comfortable position, gasping at the zing of friction on her clit. She rubbed herself against his hard flesh again, her mouth open and moaning on Travis’s shoulder. The movement naturally rode her up and down on Travis’s pulsing erection, and his enjoyment was on full display, his head tipped back, eyes blind. Something didn’t quite allow Georgie to drop into the moment, though. Just like that time in Travis’s bedroom, she ached for the thrill of being pinned.
“I don’t know if I can . . .” She broke off in a whimper when Travis began kneading her bottom, coaxing her into a slick, erotic rhythm, her sex riding up and down his length. God, it felt so good, the give and take of soaked flesh, their shallow breaths mingling with the pelting rain, his chest hair abrading her nipples. But her mind wouldn’t turn off the way it did when Travis was on top. She wanted him to hold the reins. “I don’t think I can . . . like this.”
“The hell you can’t.” Travis sat up straight, yanking her hips closer. He took her face in his hands, breathing heavy against her mouth. “You might be on top, but I’m still in charge, aren’t I?” He kissed her long and hard while those words sunk in. “If I wanted to flip you onto your back on this bench and break you off, I wouldn’t ask permission.”
While he spoke, Georgie’s hips began to move of their own accord. Out of pure necessity. Her thighs flexed, bringing her up, body rolling, ears dying to hear more. Because he was right. She wasn’t running the show. On top or not, her pleasure was Travis’s to give.
“Hey.” He caught her chin in a firm hand, tilted his hips with a groan—wicked intention in the set of his jaw, the curl of his lips. “My dick aches so bad. Make it stop.”
There was no hesitation after that. Only deep, wild lust. This was the part she needed so desperately to play. The embodiment of relief. The only one who could make him erupt. Georgie closed her eyes, using her index and middle fingers to toy with her nipples, all the while lifting and twisting back down on Travis’s thickness. His choked sounds, the chafing of his hungry, calloused hands on her thighs and bottom, all turned her desire up to the highest decibel. He grew larger inside her with every stroke of their joined bodies, his groans turning to punctuated grunts—and already she knew that signaled the end of his tether.
And that’s what broke her, along with the mind-blowing friction, the pressure in her nipples and clit—Travis giving in to the inevitable. Not being able to stand the pleasure. His arms flew wide to grip the bench, his teeth clamping down hard on his full lower lip. “Can’t hold it in. Can’t hold it in. Fuck, you’re working my cock so good, baby girl. Spoiling me.”
Georgie pressed her naked breasts to Travis’s heaving chest, letting her mouth linger a breath away from his. Lapping at him once. “I want to make you come so hard.”
“Motherfuck.” Travis’s grip returned to her backside, supporting it as he lunged to his feet—and he proceeded to bounce her like a puppet with no strings on his rigid arousal. Sweat slid down one side of his face, their lower bodies slapping together while the rain hammered home on top of the dugout. “You make me so fucking crazy. I can’t take it. My God.”
Those gruff words pitched Georgie over the side of the precipice, her sex seizing with enough intensity to make her scream, the sound swallowed by Travis’s fevered mouth. It bit at her and exploited her tongue while her knots untied, tension draining out of her in hard, trembling degrees, her thighs shaking around Travis’s hips. “Travis, Travis, Travis.”
“Coming,” he rasped mid-kiss, his groan filling her open mouth. In this position, there was no way to escape the quaking aftermath of what she’d done to him. He stumbled to the right, jaw dropping, his manhood jerking inside of her, leaving a flood of moisture behind. The sight and sounds stitched themselves onto her memory, where they