Page 53 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
Every touch is a splash of gasoline on a smolder. Every kiss is the match being lit. Every groan a lick of flame searing both my skin and my soul.
I’m not sure who starts the movement, but we slowly make our way down the hall. My back bumps against the wall. We stumble over the rug. When we enter his room, we become a frenzied mess of removing clothes. Each item one less barrier between us.
There’s a brief moment when our clothes are strewn around us, and we stand completely naked, staring at each other. I expect his gaze to dip, to check out my body, but it doesn’t. It stays fixed on my eyes, telling me he sees me without ever looking at my nakedness.
It’s incredibly intimate. The look in his eyes. The way he steps forward and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The unspoken way he has o
f knowing this quiet moment is exactly what I need to prevent the nerves and insecurity from suddenly buzzing inside me like it typically would.
He takes a deep breath, and this time when he leans into me, the kiss is slow and mesmerizing. It’s as if he’s kissing every single ounce of oxygen from my lungs and holding it hostage until he can kiss me the next time.
“I want you.” His words are soft, but they reverberate loudly in every part of my body.
And then the tenderness is gone. The next kiss is one of hungry desperation. How much can he take from me and how fast can he take it. We move backward until we tumble onto the bed, our laughter turning into my drawn-out moan and his libidinous groan as he sucks on my nipple.
“Grady.” His name is the sound of unrequited need.
Impatient and greedy.
My hands are in his hair. Fisting. Tugging. Keeping his head right where it is so his mouth can continue to tease me with the sweet torture of his tongue and teeth against my nipples.
Not only does he not stop, but his hands part my thighs, finding me wet and ready for him. My breath hitches as he slides his finger up and down my slit, his thumb rubbing over my clit, his fingers toying with my entrance so I buck my hips, begging for more.
He doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he leaves his fingers right there, just barely entering me so the heel of his hand can rub and press against my clit. I squirm. I writhe. I groan. I beg. All I want is something of him in me. Right. Now. The pressure is building, and I need that cock of his to fill me, to grate over those nerves and ignite the wildfire of bliss starting to brim beneath the surface.
“Grady.” I moan his name again, letting him know I need him. That my body is succumbing to his touch.
“Condom,” he murmurs against my chest as the weight of his body eases off me so he can reach in the drawer of his nightstand.
I can’t wait, so as he sits back on his knees to open the condom and roll it over the delicious girth of his shaft, I let my fingers travel their way between my thighs. I’m a mess of arousal, so my fingers slide easily into me before coming back out.
He groans as he watches me. Teeth biting into his bottom lip. Hand working ever so slowly over his jacketed dick. Eyelids heavy and drugged with desire.
Watching him watch me is erotic, and while I’m typically shy when it comes to my body, the way he’s looking at me pleasuring myself—the pads of my fingers on my clit, the way I slide between my lips to find more arousal before tripping back up to build my orgasm again—is empowering in a way I’ve never experienced before.
My breath grows shallow, and it becomes hard to keep my eyes open as the pleasure builds, one wave after another, and just when I’m about to come—back arching, legs tensing—Grady locks his hand over my wrist.
“Let me.”
Those are two of the sexiest words I’ve ever heard.
My eyes flash open to watch as Grady moves between my thighs. He grabs the underside of my knees and pulls me closer. His thick head teases my entrance. He pushes in just enough for me to feel the slow, sweet burn of my flesh giving way to his invasion before he pulls back out. Wicked, delicious torture.
“You like that?” he murmurs as he watches where he teases.
He does it a few more times, and just as I’m about to grab his hips myself to prevent him from pulling back out, he enters me fully in one dizzying thrust so he’s sheathed, root to tip.
We both moan from the onslaught of pleasure. From the restraint tested. From the frenzy of our bodies begging for more.
Our eyes meet. Our hands connect and fingers link. And then he moves again. Slowly at first, giving me time to adjust to him. When I have, I clench my muscles around him to tell him I’m good, and I love the way his eyes close partially from the sensation.
And then he picks up the pace.
He leans forward so our joined hands are pinned on either side of my head and adds to his pleasurable assault by kissing me again. His tongue moves in sync with his hips, and I writhe and buck, trying to draw out every ounce of bliss from our connection.
It’s one bruising thrust after another. Every nerve of mine thrums and pulses as he rubs and grinds against them, until all I can concentrate on is him and the climax bearing down on me without mercy.
My body is a confusing combination of pleasure building to pain, want bending to need, and desperation feeding gluttony.
