Page 55 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
I want him so badly that the pleasure blots out the world beyond this room. He rocks into me, a little deeper, nice and long and slow, and do I ever enjoy it. Because that’s the point of sex. I’m learning for the first time why everybody wants this. Why people will beg, borrow, or steal for it.
And I’m learning, too, why some people wait for it, and some people don’t. Because sex like this is both worth waiting for and worth having whenever you’re ready for it.
Sparks of desire tear through me as Holden moves in me, finding a delicious and luxurious rhythm.
One thrust, two, then a long, tantalizing one as he fucks me deep like I asked for.
Bracing on his forearms, his chest almost flush with mine, he swivels his hips, going deeper. Then he glides out, nearly all the way, his cock sliding over my clit deliciously as he moves, bringing me pleasure.
So much pleasure that I’m bathing in it, an ocean of bliss.
And I will happily float here all day long on these ecstatic waves.
We bask in that pace for a bit, and the sounds too—the slide of our skin, our moans and murmurs. My name on his lips, carnal and hungry, paired with my ohs and yeses.
The sounds of our pleasure light me up, making my toes curl.
I don’t want this moment to end. But I also want that sheet-grabbing, window-shattering crush.
He seems to sense my wants, that I’m on the edge, eager to feel everything. “Play with yourself. Let me see how you got yourself off to those thoughts of me.”
“So many times,” I moan.
He nods savagely, pushing deep, making my back bow. “Same for me with you,” he confesses. “Show me, beautiful. Show me now.”
He rises up, giving me room. I slide a hand between my breasts, down my stomach, on a fast track to between my thighs.
I touch my clit, rubbing it, arching up into my own hand, as the pleasure spirals deep inside me.
His eyes are feral as he drives a little harder. And I like that. I like the possession in his touch, the heat in his voice. “My God, fucking you is incredible,” he groans.
His dirty words, rather than sweet ones, do me in. The swears are an injection of intensity up and down my spine, to my legs, to my toes.
“Yes. Do that again. Say that again.”
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunts.
And I rub harder, faster.
“I want to fuck you again and again,” he rasps out.
Ecstasy coils deep inside me from those words, filthy and beautiful.
The pleasure runs wild, gallops inside me, intense and electric, winding tight then spreading everywhere inside me and taking over every molecule.
And I burst, shuddering as I come—thanks to him, thanks to me, thanks to both of us taking us there.
It gets even better when he pushes my right knee up higher, against my chest, giving himself more room as he pumps deeper, buries his face in my neck, and growls my name savagely as he hits his own release, grunting. “Reese, you make me come so fucking hard,” he says, his big body shaking on top of me as his climax seems to shatter him too.
When he stops shaking, I run my hands down his back, feeling the sheen of sweat on him.
Hearing the stuttering pants of his breath.
Sensing the rapid beat of his pulse.
And wanting him again.
I’m pretty sure this is exactly how sex is supposed to feel.
I know why I waited so long. In college, I was waiting for the right guy, and then I met him right at the end.
There was no need for anybody else—he is the right guy for me.
And I don’t want us to stop, even though I fear it’s inevitable that we will.
Soon.
But for now, I let the bliss carry me away.
21
Reese
His shirt falls to the top of my thighs.
He can’t stop looking at me in his clothes.
But then, I can’t stop looking at him as he sautés mushrooms, carrots, and peppers while wearing gym shorts and a gray T-shirt.
It’s a good view, the baseball player cooking, as he whips up a quick fried rice dish, adding some sesame oil.
Holden seems to enjoy the view of me too, in his T-shirt from our alma mater. He tossed it my way when I said I was hungry, and he said he’d cook for me if I didn’t get fully dressed.
Seemed like a fair deal.
Also, I’ve learned this—sex makes me ravenous.
As I lean against the counter in his clean, immaculate kitchen, my stomach rumbles again.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m working on it, woman.”
“Sorry. Not sorry. You worked up an appetite in me.”
He gives me a crooked, satisfied grin. “Good,” he murmurs as the veggies sizzle. “So. Sex. What’s your score?”
I stare at the ceiling, screwing up the corner of my lips. “What’s the scale? I need to know how I’m measuring it.”
