Page 62 of Meant for You

“How you feeling? Hungover?” he said, voice full of grit.

“No. I feel fine. Good, actually.” Very good in fact.

“Excellent,” he said, and I was rolled to my back. Dane came down on top of me.

The move took me by surprise. I blinked up at him, and as I suspected, he looked gorgeous, all whiskered jaw and heavy-lidded sexiness. “Have you been awake a while?” My own voice was husky, and not because I just woke up.

“Yes,” he gritted out. “All fucking night. Only thing I could think about was you with your hand on your pussy, reading your book and making yourself come.”

Yep. I’d admitted that to him last night. My face heated and electricity zapped through my belly. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.” He shoved my legs wide with his.

That brought his denim-jean-covered erection against my denim-shorts-covered sex. I opened my mouth to say something—I wasn’t exactly sure what—but I didn’t get the chance, because his mouth came down on mine and he kissed me, rough and hungry.

Instant fire.

God, would it always be like this?

My lips parted, letting him take what he needed, and I did my best to give it back to him just as good.

I knew I’d gotten it right when he groaned and ground his hips down on mine. I spread my thighs wider and wrapped my arms around him tight, wanting more of him and not afraid to show it. After talking to my girls last night, I knew I couldn’t hold back from him anymore and that I didn’t want to. I was done being afraid.

We were doing this, and I was all in, all the way.

He lifted his head, eyes blazing. “Fuck, Eves, you make me crazy,” he bit out and thrust against me again.

I gasped when his erection behind his jeans rubbed my shorts against my clit and lifted my hips to meet his. He did it again on a growl, and the friction grew more intense.

“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” I said, or rather moaned.

“You gonna come for me like this, baby? From me dry humping you like some horny fucking teenager? Is that what you’re gonna do?” he said against my ear.

I was. I most definitely was. I answered him by sliding my hands under the waistband of his jeans to his very, very nice butt, trying to hold him to me.

Dane brought his mouth back down on mine as he rolled his hips, grinding, thrusting, moving faster against me in a simulation of sex—of fucking—that was dirty and exciting and perfect.

The only thing more perfect than this would be if we actually were having sex.

His hand slid up my side, taking my shirt with it, and he tore his mouth from mine. “Let me take this off?” he gritted out.

I was fully on board with that idea and lifted my arms over my head.

Dane dragged it up and off, flinging it aside. “Bra?”

I nodded, and he undid it, jerked it down my arms, and tossed it aside as well.

His gaze moved from mine down over my chest, and his entire body jolted. “Fuck me,” he growled and dropped his head, mouth closing over one of my nipples and sucking.

I curled my fingers around the back of his neck, crying out. “Oh God.”

He didn’t let up, hips still rolling, his wicked mouth on me, sucking, licking my tight, extremely sensitive nipples until I thought I couldn’t take much more. He moved to the other side, starting all over again, his other hand taking over the work of where his mouth had just been.

The pressure, that building of unbearable exquisite pressure became too much. It had nowhere else to go, but still it climbed and climbed, making me pant and gasp for breath until finally I tipped over the edge.

“Dane!” I shattered under him, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through me. I arched against Dane’s hard body, fingers digging in as I cried out.

He lifted his head, gaze boring into me, watching everything, all of it. He shoved his face against my neck, hips twisting and grinding before he suddenly stilled and his entire body started shaking. He groaned low against my skin.