And each movement put his body over hers, touching her right where she needed it.
“Gonna come inside you. All inside your pretty pussy,” he whispered and rotated his hips, hitting another spot deep inside her that shocked her into one mother of an orgasm.
She cried out and tightened her legs around his waist, arching against him.
When she could breathe again, she felt him thick inside her.
“You are seriously killing me.”
He grinned, and a lock of hair fell over his eyes. His boyish smile didn’t fit with the carnal desire between them, yet it did. And then he was drawing them both up, so that she sat over his cock. He kissed her and cupped her breasts, playing with her all over again.
“It’s like you’re a cat and I’m your ball of string,” she whispered, his to command. And he knew it.
“Oh, no, Erin. You’re the pussy, and I’m the dog with a big dick dying for a piece.”
She stroked his hair and kissed him. “You want my pussy?”
He shuddered and moved her hips over him, touching her so deep inside. “Keep talking. You get me so hard when you talk like that.”
“Like what?” she whispered and drew his ear to her lips, loving that she could make him shiver. A big tough guy like Smith, putty in her hands. “Don’t you want to come inside me? Give me that thick cock and make me all wet inside?” She licked his ear.
He groaned and moved her faster, up and down over him. But that wasn’t enough, apparently, so he laid her flat back on the bed and went to town. Touching every part of her, body, mind, and what really scared her—soul.
Erin whispered words of encouragement no lady would ever think about, let alone confess to. When Smith moaned her name and filled her up once more, she didn’t think she’d ever had such a religious Sunday, in or out of church.
Chapter Twelve
“Okay, what the hell?” Hector Jackson, one half of Smith’s support on the Wade move, stared at him in consternation. “You’ve been smiling all damn day, and it’s freaking me out.”
His twin, Lafayette, nodded as he drew abreast of them in the client’s basement, wrapping a cord around a floor lamp. “Seriously. I like a happy guy, but it just doesn’t look natural on you, man.”
The pair had been in the Navy, and for a couple of squids, they were okay. Built like bricks, the Jacksons could haul what he could. Both guys had smarts and sense, which did not always go hand in hand, and worked hard. Smith couldn’t fault them for anything except their constant good cheer.
Because who the hell wanted to be happy all the time? “Blow me,” he told them.
As one, they sighed.
“Ah, that’s better,” Lafayette said, his mirth clear to see. “Thought for a minute there you were someone else.”
“Like who?” Hector asked with a smirk. “Cash, maybe? They do look alike.”
“Fuck off.” Smith glared at him. It was no secret he and Cash looked alike. But from what he gathered, none of the Griffiths—Cash, Reid, or Evan—had said a word about his connection to the guys. The fact that they acknowledged Smith as a brother was too new to understand.
“Yeah, they aresoalike,” Lafayette nodded. “Come on, Smith. Just ‘fess up. You guys have to be related.”
Hmm. Would the others want to keep the connection under wraps? They seemed to like bossing him around well enough. Despite the fact they employed him, Cash wanted him to visit again, and Reid had texted him a ton yesterday about how great the evening had gone. They seemed to want him around. Evan did, no question. But Evan was different, not a true blood relation at all, so the fact he didn’t mind Smith’s parentage had less effect.
Smith liked the guy anyway. Evan’s girlfriend and aunt had been nothing but nice to him.
But Cash and Reid. Their existence put a different spin on things. His perfect cousins Meg used to go on and on about.
Though he’d been doing better about dealing with his repressed rage, sometimes it flared up out of nowhere. And even memories of Erin’s amazing smile and kick-ass body couldn’t suppress it.
“Yeah, we’re related. What of it?” he snarled, his good mood dead and gone.
Hector and Lafayette shared a glance before Hector added in a soft tone, “No worries, Smith. We were just hassling you. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”
And now Smith felt like a fucking idiot. They’d been razzing him the way he would have been razzing them—and had, he remembered—when they’d been all smiles and dopey in love. “I’m not dopey in love or anything,” he muttered more to himself than to them.
