Page 210 of Spicy Ever After
“You feel amazing!”
I don’t care that it’s loud. I don’t care that the echo probably carried all the way to Ville Platte.
When his lips hit my neck and he nuzzles me, I sigh. When his stubble gently scrapes my breasts, I moan. And when he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, I cry out.
My hands can’t get enough of his shoulders, his back, his ass. When I jerk his hips to mine, ratcheting up the pressure of his cock against my sex, he makes a gruff noise and frees my breast.
“Not yet, honey—” he rasps, and then he’s hugging me around my middle, kissing a path down my belly.
One firm tug, and my comfy travel joggers and panties are gone.
And even though, this time, I know exactly what’s going to happen, when he shoves my knees wide and his mouth lands on me, I swear, the earth moves. The pleasure is an avalanche, threatening to bury everything in its path.
It’s fast. And big. And headed straight for me, but I don’t want it to take me under. Not yet.
“Please… Please, Beck… I want to be on top. I?—”
He tears his mouth from me, eyes locking on mine. “Fuck, yeah,” he growls. And proving again just how physical farming is, Beck hoists me onto his lap before flipping us around and flopping back, leaving me straddling him.
“Je-sus,” I mutter. Because that was more fun than the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party ride at Disney.
We practically fight over his fly, but before I can chuck his jeans overboard, Beck grabs denim and fishes a condom out of his pocket.
“Good save,” I say, breathless.
And this time, I don’t fight because he needs to be wearing that thing like five minutes ago, and my fumbling fingers must steer clear.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t run my hands over him, paw at his pecs and dance fingertips down the golden arrow of hair that points to his sex.
“Christ, honey?—”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, clasping him as soon as he’s sheathed. I can’t move fast enough. And even though I’ve never done it like this before, I’ve fantasized about it plenty, as the walls in my room at Summit House could attest.
Hell, those walls are probably still blushing.
I hitch up, position his glorious crown at my entrance, and lock eyes with Beck. His smolder. The muscles in his jaw and neck stand out as though he’s straining for control.
This is for me. That look is for me.
Damn.
And I don’t know what’s better, the way he fills me as I take him. Or the tortured beauty on his face as his head knocks back.
When his gaze comes back to mine, his hands grip my hips. “So fucking good… You feel so fucking good…”
But I can only nod and hope he understands that this means You too… You feel so fucking good too.
Because sensory overload never felt so good. The breeze tickling my hair. The scent of earth and fall. The glow of the harvest moon rising just above the tree line. The bounce of weightlessness under my knees. The hot pulse of his shaft inside me, thrusting right against a place of such tender longing. The fierce grip of Beck’s hands on my bare hips. The downward glide of this thumb through my secret curls.
And then the stroke.
Good God, the stroke.
“Ohh,” I manage. And then, “Ohhh.”
Beck’s jaw is still tight, but a shit-eating grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “That’s it, honey,” he purrs.
The sound of it sends flames of pleasure licking through my sex.
