Page 73 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I can’t speak, even if I wanted to, and so, with my taste on his tongue, I suck on it. His groan, broken and begging, is all I need to hear to know I’m going to get my wish.

“Fuck me, Easton.”

I broke the rules. I spoke. But I don’t give a damn because when he lines his cock up and dips the tip inside of me, my head is already rolling back against the net, and my lips are already falling open into a garbled sound of yes, please, now, and thank you.

He fists his hands in the net beside my hips and pulls it to him so that he stands still but I slide slowly onto his rock-hard shaft. When he’s sheathed root to tip, our mutual groan is the only sound in the room, as he lets me enjoy the feel of him filling me before he pushes the net back so he slides out.

And then, without warning, he yanks the net back toward him, and I slam against him, and him into me. The action sends shockwaves through my already hypersensitive nerves.

This time, when we’re as close as can be, his lips find mine and devour them, murmuring, “Hang on, baby.”

“Please.”

And before the plea is even finished, he already has me pushed back and then pulled back into him again. He sets a bruising pace by manipulating the net around me to control the depth and the angle of his thrust. All I can do is hold on and watch how damn sexy he looks as he works himself up to his own release.

Those biceps of his flex and release with each pull and push. The tendons in his neck grow tight. His teeth bite into his bottom lip, and his nose scrunches up as he concentrates. But his eyes stay steadfast on mine. All the way up until the very end, when his head bucks back as his hips thrust forward, his hand holding me as close as I can be to him as he grinds his hips against mine and loses himself.

Completely.

And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier than Easton Wylder come undone. I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t stop thinking how I did that to him.

With my words.

With my confession.

With my body.

And when he lowers his chin and meets my eyes, everything I was fighting against the past few months dissipates.

I surrender.

Heart.

Body.

Mind.

Fear.

“We can go upstairs, you know.” Easton’s voice is murmured satisfaction as he speaks a full sentence for the first time since we moved from the nets to lay naked atop our discarded clothes on the turf baseball field.

“I kind of think this is fitting,” I muse, grateful to hear his laugh. His silence has been eating at me, because I know I unloaded a ton on him, and now that our tempers have cleared, I must explain more, but need a few more minutes before I do.

I appreciate his patience. I am grateful for his silence. But with both of those also comes the unsettled quiet in my head that riots around on how to begin, since this sharing thing is all new to me.

“It would be more fitting if we were lying on home plate,” he chuckles as his finger trails lazily up and down the length of my spine, pausing to smooth over the curve of my ass before starting the whole process all over again.

“So, why did you bring me down here, anyway?” I ask to buy more time. His hand pauses, then continues.

“Because, if you were going to walk away, I didn’t want you in my place. Memories are a bitch, and the last thing I needed was to make more of them there on the kitchen counter.”

“The kitchen counter?”

“I figured that was as far as I’d get you in the door before I had to have you, and the kitchen counter is the closest horizontal surface so . . .”

“Do you always want to sleep with someone when they make you that angry?”

“Only you, Kitty. Only you.” Silence descends again. He plays with a strand of my hair while my fingertips draw aimless circles on his chest.