focused on the burning, determined look in his eyes before he took my mouth again, kissing me deep, wet . . . hot.
I felt him glide the tip of his cock over my clit. My hips jerked and I gasped against his tongue, rounding his hips with my calves.
Rush kept kissing me.
Somewhere in the depths of my brain that wasn’t about my body, his cock, the staggering orgasm he just gave me, or the fact we were about to connect, I realized I liked that.
Loved it.
I loved that Rush kissed, so intimate, so generous, so beautiful, while he fucked.
To me, it said everything.
To me, that just was Rush.
As deep as these thoughts were, they flew away when the tip of his cock caught at me and he slid in an inch.
I clutched at the back of his neck with one hand and dragged my nails down his spine with the other.
He slid in another inch.
I was being stretched, widened.
His kiss deepened, and he went in another inch.
I whimpered.
He broke the kiss and lifted his head.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“You’re—”
“I got some heft.”
Heft.
I hadn’t seen him and I didn’t know how long he was.
But he was thick.
“Yeah, baby?” he prompted, and I felt him straining to hold back.
He wanted inside.
But he was holding back, making sure I was good.
God.
Rush.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
He slid in another inch.
And stopped.
“Baby,” I breathed.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Sweet. Tight. Slick. Fuck,” he groaned.
I lifted my head and nipped his lips.
His face darkened and he slid in another inch.
“Yes,” I panted.
“More?” he grunted.
“Yes,” I hissed.
He slid in all the way.
I clutched his neck and slipped my other hand down to find my nails digging in the bare, molded, muscle of his ass.
Nice.
But he’d gotten naked and I missed it.
Next time, I would not.
“Rush.”
“Good?”
“Rush—”
“Honey, you good?”
I twisted my hand to glide my fingers up into the flips and curls of his hair, cup his head and lifted mine off the bed until my lips were to his, my eyes looking right into his, and I begged, “Fuck me, Rush.”
His lids lowered (sexy AF), he slanted his head, took my mouth and moved inside me.
Slow.
Gentle.
Sweet.
His hand went to my breast, teasing my nipple.
Oh yes.
I grabbed his ass in my hand, holding tight, pulling him to me, sliding my calves down to wrap around the backs of his thighs and holding on.
He kept kissing me and went faster.
I broke the kiss, went after his neck, fisting my hand in his hair to pull his head back so he’d expose his throat to me.
“Christ,” he groaned.
And went faster, deeper.
I opened my mouth over his throat and took him with lips and tongue, like I’d suck his cock, all the way down.
“Christ,” he grunted.
His hand at my breast slid down, in, and his finger was at my clit.
Oh . . .
Yes.
My head fell back.
He took my mouth.
And went faster, harder.
“Rush,” I breathed into his mouth, finding his rhythm with my hips, trailing my other hand down so I had two handfuls of his ass, pulling him into me.
“Find it,” he grunted.
“Baby.”
His finger pressed tighter, rolled harder, as his thrusts inside went even faster.
“Find it,” he growled into my mouth.
I gripped his ass with my hands, lifted my knees, pressed my thighs to his hips and closed my eyes, bowing up into him as he gave it to me again.
God, how could the second one be better?
I didn’t know.
I just felt it.
And it was fabulous.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered then bucked, once, twice, three times, four, grunting through each before he planted himself inside, shoved his face in my neck and groaned into my skin.
I melted into the bed.
Rush collapsed into me.
When I came to, his mouth was moving on me.
My neck.
My chest.
Over the swell of my breast.
I wound my limbs tight around him as he rolled my nipple with his tongue.
I tipped my chin down and watched through half-closed eyes his dark head against my light skin, his strong glistening tongue swirling my sensitive nipple.
“Honey,” I called.
His head came up, his gaze came to me, before he shifted over me and put his mouth to mine.
I expected him to kiss me.
He didn’t kiss me.
And I only had the barest second to process the intensity in his look, the possession stark there, hunger slaked, satisfaction a given. I knew before he even said it I had hold on a man who was about to stake his claim.