Page 38 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Yes. You’re incredible.

Oh god.

I can’t hold back much longer.

Harder.

Good?

Faster.

Scout.

His hands grip tighter.

“Scout.”

His hips buck harder.

“Scout.”

A second warning. His restraint is gone.

“I’m coming.” I can barely get the words out. The second orgasm that hits is ten times more intense than the first. My body, my breath, my thoughts, my sensibility is all lost as I buck and writhe and take and claim every single ounce of what he gives me while he races to claim his own.

I’m barely coherent, lost in an unforgiving sea of bliss, but when Easton’s fingers dig into my thighs, I’m pulled back just in time to watch his climax slam through him. His groan is guttural. His head is thrown back. My name is on his lips. His hips grind violently against mine.

It’s sexy as hell to watch him come undone. To know I did this to him. To see his muscles, taut from release, slowly relax, one by one. And when his fingers loosen their grip on me, murmurs of praise are on his lips until he leans over and fuses them to mine for one last kiss.

And then we collapse onto his downy soft bed, his weight on top of me, his dick slipping out of me, and his head resting on my chest.

Seconds turn to minutes as we catch our breath and let our heartbeats calm.

“Well, it wasn’t the private field downstairs, but I guess it’ll do,” I tease as I lazily run my finger up and down the line of his spine.

His laughter rumbles through his chest into mine. “It’ll do?” he asks in mock disbelief; and that alone—the scrape of his scruff and the heat of his breath from speaking—causes chills to chase over my already sated body. “I played your field all right and slid perfectly into home.”

“If you say so.” My voice is coy and playful as I shrug and fight the smile on my lips. “This field is pretty impressive.”

“I guess I’ll have to try harder next time to outrank it then.”

“I’m a hard girl to please.”

He props himself up on his elbows and just stares at me. But there’s something different about the look, the kind of different that suddenly makes me panic and feel fluttery and like I need to go but want to stay.

So I do the only thing I can think of to quiet the chaotic thoughts and prevent them from ruining the moment—I lean up and brush my lips ever so gently against his.

“A demanding woman indeed,” he murmurs before giving me that tender type of kiss that reverberates to your toes and then all the way back up until it slams into your belly. Or heart. “Good thing I’ve got a big bat and know how to use it.”

The sun is blinding. It takes me a minute to adjust to its brightness, and when I’m able to fully open my eyes, Easton’s face is inches from mine, dark features half hidden in a sea of light blue pillowcase.

My first reaction is to run my fingers along the scruff on his jaw. To touch him again. To make sure he’s real. And to validate every single thing I felt last night as we came together, again and again and again.

My second reaction is oh shit.

The buzz I had long into the early morning hours vanishes, gone with the rising of the sun. But with its disappearance comes that groggy awareness of what I allowed—what I wanted to happen—but know can’t happen.

Realization hits.