First Comes Love - Ashlee Price Page 0,17

enjoying just how tight he is inside of me.

Then, he slams his lips onto me and pulls himself partway out again. At first, Greyson fucks me slow and sensually, every penetration a mini-ecstasy. I come once, but Greyson’s hard-on is as rock-solid as ever. Slowly, he builds his pace, in and out, hard and harder, fast and faster, until out bodies are slamming together and I can’t think of anything but more, more, more—I need it—I need it.

And I’m screaming into his palm: “More—fuck me—yes—more—please—ugh—yes!”

And I’m coming over and over again, as he spills into me, and our bodies spasm together.

Afterwards, I tremble I don’t know how long. After that: warmth, the soothing up and down of his chest, silence.

Chapter 7

Greyson

I wake up hard. Still tired, too, and dreaming.

No way in hell can this be real. In the golden light of the sunrise, in my arms, Harley is nothing short of a goddess. Her lightly freckled toned curves are perfection, while her slightly parted lips are just begging for a kiss.

I give it to her.

It really is a dream, because her eyes flutter half-open and she murmurs, “More?”

I slip right inside her.

Our bodies move together in sleepy memory. Utter rightness. Still half-asleep, we kiss our way from one position to the next: her on top, breasts jiggling gorgeously as she rides me, me behind her, the view of her ass exquisite as I ram her doggy-style. When she comes, I hold her tightly, enjoying all her little groans and shaking, then I fuck her some more. I come once, yet my hard-on springs back up almost immediately.

She’s that sexy, and I guess this is a dream, after all. She has the softest skin imaginable, and some kind of fruity scent that somehow makes me hornier. As we hold and fuck each other, I lose track of how many times either of us comes; the only passage of time is the movement of the sun in the sky.

Until a caw makes me look up. I gape at a toucan, peering at us jauntily, its colorful beak open in a laugh. I’m about to yell at it and shoo it away when I hear Harley laugh. Catching her merry eye, I can’t help but crack up too.

That’s when it hits me.

“This isn’t a dream.”

“No?” Harley rises and stretches, offering me a magnificent view of her fine ass. “I think it is, in a manner of speaking.”

In a manner of speaking…

Still dazed, I watch her put on her clothes. She doesn’t rush it, only smirks at me every so often, as if enjoying how I can’t bear to peel my gaze away.

Goddamn is she beautiful. The kind of beautiful the bright clear light only outlines in greater clarity.

Once she’s finished, she pauses. “What did I say—it was good, right?”

“What?”

Calling what sexual magic just happened between us—because that’s what it was, nothing less than fucking magic—the hottest, craziest, wildest, in a word—best—sex that I’d ever had—calling that ‘good’ seems absurd.

A chuckle. “The pot. It was good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I grumble, my voice gravelly in the morning, “but you still can’t do it here again.”

Harley makes a face. “I only brought one joint anyway, Mr. Storm. I’m not some pothead. But I’ll be seeing you?”

She’s already off a few paces before it occurs to me to respond. “Don’t call me that!”

She just laughs. “See ya!”

I glare blankly at the horizon, the sun already beating down mercilessly. We’re in a clearing now, but hopefully the trek won’t be as hot as I am here.

What the fuck just happened?

A series of caws has me direct my glare at the fat toucan perched on the leafy ceiba tree overhead.

How did I go from staying in control to losing it all? How could I fuck up so badly?

Only… was it that much of a fuck-up? Harley seemed cool about it, and the sex was spectacular. As long as we don’t get caught, we should…

“Fuck!” I hiss, remembering myself.

Ass-naked, less than a minute’s walk from the camp. Have I lost my dumbass mind?

I leap up and begin throwing on my clothes as fast as I can, muttering curses at myself. Luckily, no one ventures over, and by the time I get back to camp, people are just starting to get up.

Russel, of course, is still perched by the fire, wearing what looks to be a Hawaiian lei-covered toga, working away at a mashed conglomeration of food that I probably don’t want to know about. “Howdy, Greyson. Aren’t you looking like a