Page 15 of The Snowflake Effect

She grips my dick over my jeans and gives a squeeze, naughty and damn nice. I sink a hand into her hair and tug harder than necessary, tipping her head so I can taste the smooth skin along her neck. She moans, grips me tighter, and my vision blurs.

I grab her ass and haul her to the edge of the counter, her skirt practically at her waist now, those fuck-me boots still on, and I’m ready to explode. Fire in her eyes, cheeks flushed, she hooks her legs around my waist and rips the elastic from my hair. Our tongues tangle as I fumble with my belt buckle. When I get it apart, she eases the zipper down, discovering I fly commando.

A soft “Jesus” later, she bites my neck as her hand explores my dick.

And, fuck.

My life, this room, this awful day…all of it fades. Nothing is left but the heat of her palm wrapped around me, her needy sounds getting me harder.

Reaching between her thighs, I grip the lace, give a solid pull, and tear it in half. I fling it at the door and press my length against her, all that heat and wetness rubbing up and down.

Rocking. Biting. Hands pulling.

Damn right, Shay’s a tiger, and I can’t wait another second.

I dig a condom Sawyer gave me out of my jeans pocket, roll it on in record time, then I grip her ass and push in so quick we both gasp. She shoves my jeans farther down, leans back to get me where she wants me.

And I want to be here. Right here.

I don’t ease in and out of her, don’t take it slow. I latch one arm around her hips, plant my other palm on the mirror behind her, and drive so hard she clutches my shoulders to keep from falling.

She’s barely able to move as I plunge deeper with each thrust. Her leather boots scratch the bruise on my hip, her hand in my hair, tugging hard. Just the tip of her red lace bra pokes out, but her breasts bounce in time to our rhythm.

Heat gathers at my spine, shooting south. So fucking close.

Her hips roll, both of us panting heavier. A sheen of sweat glistens on her neck.

Knowing I won’t last, I slip my hand from the mirror and guide my thumb between us. She squeezes her knees tighter and clamps her teeth on my shoulder. Her muffled cries push me over the edge, her body convulsing, and liquid fire lights through me.

I pump into her harder, faster, my knees almost giving out, my mouth in her hair as I try not to scream the Christ and Shay and fucks I can’t swallow as I come like a fucking freight train.

CHAPTER 7

SHAY

Oh my God. OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod. What the hell just happened? I mean, besides the best orgasm of my life. Kolton is still rigid inside me, making my inner walls clench.

If he started moving again, I bet I could orgasm again, which is bonkers.

I don’t remember the last time I orgasmed once from sex, let alone twice. With Richard, the lights were always out, my nightgown partly on, and he’d grunt and thrust at the same angle, the same speed, and in the same bed. Every Saturday, like clockwork. More orgasms were faked than real.

Out of nowhere, tears burn the backs of my eyes. My throat closes. I quickly press my forehead to Kolton’s shoulder, confused. Embarrassed.

“Hey, hey.” He cups the back of my head with one hand, rubs the other down my spine. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Fuck, please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I’m just…” Clearly fucked up.

I didn’t know sex could be this good. I hate myself that much more for wasting so much time on Richard. And this emotional collapse? So not cool. Maybe it’s too soon for one-night stands. Maybe I should’ve used the bat-condom signal with the girls, and I can’t remember what code we chose for when we needed to leave. The giraffe sound? Was that it?

“Sorry.” I ease him away and swipe at my eyes as he carefully pulls out of me.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says gently. He reaches down to deal with the condom but freezes. “Shit.”

I follow his panicked gaze and match his frozen posture.

The condom is ripped.

Thank God I’m on the pill, but I don’t even know this guy. “Please tell me you’ve been tested,” I ask as I hop off the counter, yank down my skirt, and wildly glance around for a washcloth.