Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,55

He reached up with his free hand, tangled it in her wet hair, and hauled her into another kiss.

She lost herself to it, for a little while. Her hand loosened, and her body took on that numb, melting feeling, like she was drunk.

She whimpered when he finally broke away from her mouth and trailed hot, slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. “What do you want?” he murmured. His hand closed over hers, where she still gripped him loosely. They stroked his cock together, fingers overlapping and interlaced. Rose tipped her head to give him better access to her pulse point and swiped her thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the moisture there, feeling his breath hot and unsteady against her throat. “Rose. What do you want?” he asked again, and set his teeth at the join of neck and shoulder, a gentle press that couldn’t be called a bite.

Everything had gone cotton-candy soft in her head, her body awash with sensation. She wanted more of that. More acute pleasure; didn’t want to think of anything except feeling good. “I want to get fucked,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

“God.” His hand lifted from hers – and slipped between her legs.

The first touch – the pads of his fingers skimming down her wet folds – left her cursing, and clutching at his shoulders with both hands again. She tipped forward to press her forehead to his, neck impossibly weak now, and spread her thighs wider, silently asking for more.

He gave it to her, fingers pressing more insistent, dipping down, spreading the wetness that welled there. “I can fuck you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I can make it good for you.” His index finger found her entrance, and pressed in.

“Oh.” This was what she’d wanted – what she needed. The slow, delicious stretch as he slipped in inch by inch. All the way in to the knuckle, and then a clever flex of his finger that left her gasping.

She wanted more, though.

“Come on,” she whispered. “I’m ready. You don’t have to” – another flex – “be so careful.”

He shifted his face so he could kiss her, another heated coupling of lips and tongues as he pressed in with a second finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

But he prepped her anyway, gently insistent, until he was three fingers in, and she was all but writhing in his lap. “Lance.”

“Alright, alright.” He tipped her back across the bunk, cupped the back of her head and set it gently down on his pillow, like she was something fragile and precious. That little act, and the look in his eyes, nearly undid her. She couldn’t handle tenderness; she wanted him to be rough, to turn loose of all the pent-up ardor she felt rippling beneath his skin.

“Please,” she said, and heard the desperation in her voice. “Lance, I can’t – please.”

He looked nearly pained, just a second. A flash of longing and hurt that she didn’t want to think about. But then he spread her thighs, and settled between them, and his gaze was hot and devouring as it skimmed across her body.

“Look at you.” He smoothed his hands up her belly, and cupped her breasts. “You’re gorgeous.” He wet his lips, and she feared he would lean down to kiss her breasts, to play with them some more. He wanted to go slow; he liked foreplay, and now wasn’t the time for that.

Biting back a huff of annoyance, she sat up, and gripped his cock.

“Shit.”

“You’re very romantic, and it’s very sweet–” she started.

His gaze snapped up to hers, and the flare of heat in his eyes rendered her silent. He put a hand to the base of her shoulder, and pushed, though gently, until she’d lied back down. He kept his hand there, over her hammering pulse, and kept his gaze locked with hers, as he smoothed his other hand down the inside of her thigh, spreading her wider. As he let his cock drag through the wetness along her folds, teasing her. The blunt head pressed at her entrance – and then pressed in.

He was big, but it didn’t hurt. The stretch and pressure freed up something inside her, something packed-down and clawing and raging. Her breath left her lungs on a harsh scrape, and she felt the heated rush of his breath as he bottomed out, and they were locked together.

“We’ll do it your way tonight,” he gritted out. “But it’s my turn to set