Page 36 of Body Check

“Hate you being so fucking far away,” he murmurs against my lips. “Hate not touching you, tasting you.” He bites my lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue. “Hate not hearing you. Having you.”

“You have me now.” I gasp as his thumb rubs my clit.

My eyes roll back in my head from the sensory overload. My hand is loosely wrapped around his cock, the fabric in my way. I move to his waistband, but his hand lands on mine, guiding me away.

“Don’t distract me.” It’s not a request, it’s an order, and my cunt throbs around his fingers. I shouldn’t love being bossed around as much as I do.

Hands clenching to his thighs, I can do little more than hold on while he touches me, rough and frantic, like he’s even halfway as worked up as I am. As if he needs this as much as I do.

He knows exactly what to do to drive me crazy and crazier. My skin is tight, like I’m about to burst out of it, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, I shatter.

I splinter apart, thousands of tiny shards breaking into a million more. The air is punched from my lungs as pleasure overtakes me, my body helpless to the sensations wreaking havoc on my system.

My knees buckle, and I pitch forward, McKittrick’s hand leaving my throat to move to my hip, stabilizing me. I collapse against him, stealing some of his steadiness. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out from where they’re buried deep within me, and I watch as he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean.

I whimper. I fucking whimper, like I’m the heroine in a regency romance novel.

The smirk he gives me is so fucking devilish. He knows he’s a fucking rake.

McKittrick is a tightly coiled ball of tension, and even though I came, he hasn’t. I’ve barely even touched him.

Once I’m certain I can stand on my own two feet again, I step away, rummaging through the cabinets behind me. He lets out a soft groan of protest. But I’m not ignoring him.

Coming up with the massage oil, I return to him.

“Take off your pants,” I order. It’s my turn now.

Breathing hard, he slips off the table, the thick length of his erection brushing against my hip. We’re standing toe-to-toe, and although he’s a whole foot taller than me, I don’t feel unsafe. I don’t feel pressured. Deep in my soul, I know he’d never make me do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

He drops his pants.

My mouth waters as I take him in. Thick and long, with a dark mushroom head, the tip leaking pre-cum. I reach for him, desperate to touch him, when I remember the massage oil in my hand.

Squeezing the oil into my palms, I rub them together to warm it before I wrap my fist around his erection. McKittrick blows out a breath, his eyes locked on where my hand circles around his length. I give him a firm stroke, and then a second. He reaches for me, ducking his head to kiss me again.

His tongue plunges into my mouth, tasting me, devouring me. He bites at my lips and soothes the sting, brutally attentive.

In my hand, his cock is hard as stone, smooth steel encased in velvet. A drop of pre-cum beads at the tip, and I smooth it along his shaft, the stickiness mixing with the oil to ease my strokes.

His hand closes around mine, pulling it away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, already missing the feel of him as his cock bobs between us.

“Turn around and bend over,” McKittrick says roughly.

Anticipation swirls in my belly. “I don’t have any condoms.”

“We don’t need condoms.”

Alarm bells go off in my brain, and I push on his chest. It’s hard as stone, and he doesn’t move an inch.

“What do you mean? If you’re going to fuck me⁠—”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “Turn around and bend over.”

I meet his eyes. It’s true that I’ve enjoyed every moment of this so far. I trust him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let him put his hands on me in the first place.

So, I turn around. Bend over.