Page 86 of Crash Course
Wallet.
"Bing-o!" he sang, his voice way too hap-hap-happy.
"Hallelujah!" she shouted back, her voice equally hap-hap-happy.
He ran to the back of the truck, boosted himself up, and found Cilla already shoeless and wiggling out of her skintight jeans.
He grabbed the comforter, tossing it to her while he unzipped, kicked off his shoes and socks, and dropped trou.
"Shirt too," Cilla said. "I know it’s cold, but . . ." She held up the comforter. "We’ll throw this over us. All I know is I’ve been thinking about you with your shirt off and I want it off."
"Jesus," he laughed. "No pressure or anything."
Still, he ripped his shirt over his head. No problem there. He knew his body. And his ten percent body fat.
Naked as a newborn, he stood over Cilla, still in her underwear and shirt. He pointed. "I’m freezing my ass off and you’re still half dressed. Get going."
She let out a whoop, tugged her shirt off and then her bra while he did his thing with the condom.
Creamy white skin flashed against the darkness. Later, when they got inside, he’d leave every light on so he could look at her. Every inch. Every curve.
All for him.
He grabbed the blanket, flipped it over him, and hit his knees. "My God," he said, "I’m about to freaking explode. I’m like a teenager getting laid for the first time."
"Good," she said. "We can take our time later."
She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails in and yanked him down on top of her. "I want you inside me. Right.Now."
Day-am.Talk about fantasies.
"Well, honey, I aim to please."
He hooked his hands under her knees, shoved her legs up and—boom—drove into her. The two of them cried out and she pumped her hips, urging him on.
"Harder," she said.
Doing as he was told, he pushed into her again, easing out and then back in, each time, a little harder.
She cried out and he pulled free of her. "Sorry!"
She groaned, dug her fingers into his hair and tugged. "Harder," she said. "Pull out again and I might have to kill you."
Being the obliging sort, he slammed himself into her, then lowered himself on top, rocking his hips slowly, in and out, in and out. He nuzzled into her hair, moving his lips over her ear. "You know," he said, "I don’t respond well to threats. I’ve always been rebellious that way."
Slowly, he moved his hips, torturing her with the pace.
"Look at me," she said.
Angling back, he met her gaze and she brought her hands to his cheeks. "Have I mentioned I love rebellious men?"
Then she clamped her hands over his ass and pumped her hips, driving him closer and closer to that edge he didn’t want to reach. Not yet.
"Honey," he said, "keep that up and this’ll be over quick."
"Harder," she said. "Please. I’m right there with you. Dammit, Cruz! Don’t. Stop!" She brought her hands back up to his face. "I love this. This is . . . perfection."
That did it. He reared back, changing the angle and once again shoving her knees up. "I want to hear you scream, Cilla. It’s just us out here. No one will hear you."
