Page 110 of The Exit Strategy

“How about now?” he murmurs. “Am I being clear enough now?”

He kisses my lips, and the taste of me mingles with the taste of him and I lose all sense of reality.

“You came on my lips. Now it’s time for my fingers, baby.” He picks up speed, fingers flying across my clit like a piano player sliding into presto.

“Fuck,” I grind out just before his free hand wraps around my neck. And here I was thinking my eyes couldn’t get any bigger.

His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around my skin, and I come again. Harder than the first time. I can’t process any of it. My body seizes as white-hot fire zips through my bloodstream, and I cry out—loudly. Loud enough that Cole clamps a hand over my mouth, his eyes dancing with everything we’ve never said.

“That’s two. Am I clear yet?”

My pussy spasms again with aftershocks I can’t control.

Even my nipples are throbbing.

I’ve never had an ab workout like this before. I’m going to feel Cole’s prowess for days.

His long fingers tap against something deep inside my pussy, and I’m thankful his free hand is still covering my mouth because I scream so hard tears leak from the corner of my eyes. Then he withdraws his thick digits, and the slurping sound my pussy makes has me squeezing my eyelids tight.

“Oh, baby. You come so prettily for me.”

My chest is heaving, wrecked, gasping.

How did we get here so quickly? It’s like he has a map to every fantasy I’ve ever dared dream.

Or maybe…

Maybe he is the fantasy.

He slides over me. Covering me with his delicious weight. Cradling my head in both his hands. Memorizing the way my face contorts as I struggle to recover from back-to-back intense orgasms that have shredded my mind, tortured my heart, and surrendered my body to whatever sorcery he wields.

“Fuck, Junie.” He stares at me in awe while I’m struggling to focus my eyes.

Everything’s blurry with white halos dotting my vision—hell, maybe this is heaven.

“You ready for me?”

Panic goes to war with lust in my belly. I want him, but I’m not sure I’ll survive it.

“You can handle it, baby,” he croons.

That’s when I feel it. The blunt head of his erection probing my still-throbbing entrance.

He presses in but stops short, staring down at me with a frown. Pulling out, he slowly starts to rock back in but bites down on his bottom lip before straightening to watch where his cock is entering me.

“Jesus,” he snaps. “Fucking. Christ.”

Instantly, I assume something’s wrong and attempt to sit up, but he knows me too well. Anticipating my move, he shoots his hand out, long fingers splayed to the center of my chest, and presses me back down.

“Two fucking orgasms and you’re still so God damn tight.”

Is he—angry?

“Damn, baby.” His expression is thunderous with a carnal desire I’ve never witnessed before. “Fuck. Condom?”

“Pill.”

Green eyes bore into mine. Then he nods because that’s all the conversation we need about this. We’re choosing trust. Maybe blindly. Probably stupidly. But trust just the same.