Page 75 of Forever Fighting
He stops reading and pulls the e-reader away, his eyebrow cocked, and I want the ground to open up and swallow me. “A little light reading?”
“It’s a good story,” I defend.
“I’ll say. Damn, kid.” He looks at me, his eyes wide, and now his cheeks are flushed.
I shrug like it’s nothing. “Katy and Wren sent me suggestions for fun beach reads. This is the first one I downloaded. I just happened to be at that scene.”
“Is it working? Is it making you wet along with her?”
“Knock it off,” I bark, almost annoyed but not really, because I’m just being defensive.
He grins. “Do you like that? Do you envision yourself in a place where you give yourself over to the other person and allow them to take total control? Where you allow them to tellyou exactly what to do and you do it because there’s nothing you want more?”
“Cut it out.” I snatch the e-reader back from him and fight a smile. “Some of us enjoy literature that isn’t considered a classic or involves cooking techniques.”
“No joke. Clearly, I’ve been reading the wrong stuff.”
“Clearly,” I mock. “I need to start reading more. I’ve been all work and no play.”
“The more play part I agree with. Read me some more,” he challenges, leaning back but keeping me close, and I have to say, our proximity isn’t helping. Because he’s hard. I mean, there is no denying that. We’re on a freaking hammock together, side by side, but I can see he’s hard.
“I can’t read more.”
“You’re a nurse. Are you telling me you haven’t had sex conversations with your patients?”
“Um, I don’t exactly get explicit like this.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” I admit. “It’s not every day I read spicy sex aloud.”
“Read it to me.” And his voice changes when he says that. It’s his dominant voice. The one that commands that dark part of me that doesn’t know how to—or simply doesn’t want to—say no. He’s not making a move. He simply wants me to read him more smut, which is kind of hot. Fuck it.
I bring the e-reader back up so I can see it and start reading.“What do you want? My cock or my mouth?” She lets out that breathy hum again, and I swear, that’s my favorite sound ever. “I’m dying to taste you. I’ll need to give you both. I’m going to fuck you slowly. So slowly you’ll claw at my back, wild with desperation. And just when I start to get you so worked up and needy, my cock will slip out and I’ll bury my face into you, licking you, devouring your sweet pussy in a way no one ever has before.” Her eyes pinch shut as she bites her lip, trying to hide her sounds from me. But I can’t have that. “That’s right, sweetheart. Let me hear it. Let me hear how good Imake you feel.” She moans loudly, her face turning away from me, pressing into her pillow. Even though I’m dying to watch her face, I’ll let her have that if she feels she needs it. If it gets her to come for me. “And just when you get close…” I trail off and she groans, her back arching and her tits peeking high into the air under her too-thin shirt. “I’m close,” she cries.”
“You stop before she comes?” Roman gripes incredulously. “That’s cruel.”
“To her or to you?” I quip.
“Did it turn you on?”
“Yes,” I admit. It turned him on too. His eyes are black, ringed in green.
He shifts, and his hand glides over my body, along my tits and down to my pussy. He cups me over my shorts. “I think this scene lacks a certain something.”
“What’s that?” I manage, already feeling winded.
“He’s watching her touch herself. That isn’t nearly as good as being able to touch her.” He rubs his hand up and down. “I mean, you’re so warm like this. And the way you smell.” His face ducks into my neck and he takes a deep inhale as he starts to suck on my neck. “This woman doesn’t know what it feels like when he touches her here.” He cups me harder. “Or kisses her like this.” His lips drag along my jaw, and I’m already gone to him. “But worse, the poor bastard doesn’t know if his touch will make her breath hitch the way yours just did.”
He’s right. My breath did hitch and his eyes flashed with excitement.
“The book can’t convey how it would feel if he did this.” In one motion, he rolls us, forcing the hammock to cradle our weight even as it rocks wickedly. Suddenly, I find myself beneath him, my head tilted back, throat exposed, the world literally turned upside down. My e-reader is gone from my hands. It’s just him. Just us.
And he’s all over me.
“This is better than reading, I think. Less imagination required. More accurate.”
“I don’t know,” I tease. “In my experience, fiction is often better than reality.”
