Pull back out.
Pushing, grinding, pounding.
My groans are sandpaper rough in my throat. Her moans climb in pitch with every plunge. I press her knees back, opening her up more,fucking harder. Her nails scrape down my waist to my ass. Her hands dig into the flexing muscles, urging me on.
“Ohmygod, Dice. Yes!”
I find the buzzing device and slide it back between us. She’s flushed and fevered, her eyes dazed. I can feel her walls squeezing and releasing, feel the vibration of the toy as I race toward my orgasm like a man on fire. My hands grip her thighs, digging into her flesh. And when her body starts to spasm like a velvet vise, I come in a red haze of pleasure and feral groans.
I wrap my arms around her and bury my face into the curve of her neck. The toy continues to buzz where it’s fallen nearby. Her skin is warm. Damp. Her breaths, catching. Her hands are on my shoulders. Not hugging me back. Just resting there.
I stay leveled for long minutes, trying to regain some kind of balance.
But I don’t know where the hell it is. Or if I’ll ever get it back.
Chapter Seventeen
Lot
I thought she was the tamer one.
“You better not fall asleep on me again,” he whispers against my ear.
I mumble a short laugh, even though my chest is too tight for it. The aftershocks have since settled, but we’re still joined. Like if we let go, something might come apart.
Keep it cool.
Keep it light.
“I’m too hungry to sleep.”
“Wore you out last night,” he murmurs with cocky male satisfaction. “Worked up your appetite this time. I’m batting a thousand, Web.”
I give him a playful shove. “Get up. You’re crushing me.”
Banter. Our neutral ground. The safe place we know how to navigate.
Before rising, he presses a kiss to each of my breasts,then slips out of me with a groan. “You’re addictive. But I’ll feed you before round two.”
“Who says you’re getting round two?”
He just grins like an unrepentant sinner and pulls me to my feet. I give him a once-over, taking in his muscular bare chest, his latex-clad junk soft now but still commanding attention.
I drag my gaze away from the powerful force of him, scoop up my clothes and vibrator, and slip into the bathroom down the hall. I turn on the tap, take care of business, then wash my hands.
My reflection above the sink stares back at me. My locs are dislodged from my top knot in a messy disarray, lips puffy, eyes a little glassy, and there are mild beard burns around my mouth and breasts. It’s the image of a woman who was just thoroughly fucked and loved every minute of it.
Ohmygawd! I just had sex with Dyson Jones. Rode him like a prized steed. Full country girl era: hat, chaps, and Beyonce’s “Texas Hold ’Em” blasting in my head. And damn if I can’t wait to do it again.
“Lot?” He raps on the door.
I pull back on my pajama set. He must have cleaned up in the powder room as when I open the door he’s changed into sweatpants and a tank top. Three legs of the spider tattoo peek out at the side, the match to my web. Something that will always be ours.
I look up into his face, and for a second, I see the boy I once fell for—the years rolling back to all the memories we share, all the feelings I had.
His gaze lingers on mine too, then he blinks it away. Whatever it was.
“Only thing close by is pizza delivery at this hour,” he says. “Or if you don’t mind waiting, we could order from downtown. Couple of new spots have opened.”
