Her eyes open, hazy and luminous. “Then show me.”
Those three words break me.
I slide my hands to her waist, gripping tight, and tug her closer until the cool granite of the island is the only thing keeping her steady. Her breath hitches again when I press against her, every inch of me thrumming with the need to claim her, to prove she’s mine and no one else’s.
“Careful,” I murmur against her lips, my voice low, warning and promise all at once. “Once I start, I don’t stop.”
She smiles. Soft, defiant, intoxicating. “Good.”
“Lift your hips up, good girl.” As she obeys, my hand drifts to cup her slick cunt. I can feel the heat of her through the thin lace thong she is wearing. “So wet for me.” Pushing the material aside, I insert two fingers inside her, feeling her tighten around me. “Are you always this wet?”
“Just for you,” she moans, writhing against my touch, trying to take my fingers deeper. “Please. I want your fingers…”
“Prove it,” I smirk, removing my fingers from her delicious cunt. “On your knees on the counter.” Her eyebrows dip in confusion for a moment before she shimmies her ass back on the island before sliding her dress up and off, shucking it behind her. Slowly, she rearranges herself on her knees before me in nothing but her panties and heels.
“Such a good girl,” I praise her, loving the way she subtly preens at my affection. “Open your legs,” I tell her. She does as I ask but it isn’t far enough my liking. “More.” She spreads her thighs further until her sopping pussy nearly touches the countertop.
Placing my palm up on the granite beneath her, I nod at my fingers. “Go one now,” I instruct. “Straddle my fingers, baby.”
She hesitates for half a second, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face, but then she bites her lip and lowers herselfslowly, dragging that soaked lace over my fingers until the wet heat of her is pressed against me.
“Fuck,” I groan, the sound ripping out of me before I can stop it. Watching her like this, kneeling on my counter, straddling my hand, her breath shaky and uneven, it’s too much and not nearly enough.
Her lashes flutter as she moves, rocking forward, back, the slick slide of her arousal coating my skin. She braces a hand on the countertop, the other one on my shoulder, like she needs me to anchor her through the storm she’s about to drown in.
“Look at you,” I rasp, curling my fingers slightly so she drags herself over the ridges of my knuckles. “So desperate. So perfect. You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you?”
Her whimper is answer enough. She nods, hair falling into her face as she rides my hand, a mix of innocence and sin that makes my chest ache.
I grab a fistful of her hair and tug her head back so I can see her eyes. They’re dark, glazed with lust, but there’s fire there too. Always fire with her.
“Yes,” she whispers, broken and beautiful. “Anything.”
My cock throbs painfully against the front of my suit pants, every muscle in my body screaming to rip her panties off and bury myself inside her until she can’t scream anyone’s name but mine. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I curl two fingers into her, slow and deep, until she gasps. My thumb finds her clit, circling, coaxing, pushing her closer to the edge with every slick stroke.
“That’s it, Peyton. Take it. Take what I give you.”
She’s trembling, thighs quaking as she fights to keep her balance on the counter. I know she’s close, the heat of her pulsing around my fingers, the desperate grind of her hips begging for more, harder, faster.
And when she’s right there, about to break, I stop.
Her cry is sharp, furious, needy. “Colter!”
I pull my fingers free, dripping with her arousal, and bring them to my mouth. My tongue slides over them, savoring the taste of her, letting her watch.
“Mine,” I growl, and then I crash my mouth to hers, devouring her with a hunger that’s been festering since the moment she walked into my life.
Her taste lingers on my tongue when I finally break the kiss, breathing hard against her mouth. I drag her forward until she is sitting on the edge of the island again. My hands grip her thighs, spreading them wide on the cold granite until her slick heat is open and waiting for me.
“You’re dripping for me,” I murmur, dragging my thumb through her wetness, smearing it over her swollen clit. “And you’re going to take every inch of me right here.”
“Colter—” her voice cracks on my name, torn between need and disbelief, but I don’t give her room to argue. With practiced ease, I pop the button on my slacks and slide the zipper down before hooking my fingers into the thin strip of lace and rip her thong down the middle, the sound sharp in the stillness. I don’t even bother peeling it off her fully, just push it aside to bare her glistening pussy.
“Goddamn,” I hiss, stroking my cock once, twice, before lining up at her entrance. The head pushes against her, and the way she gasps—eyes wide, lips trembling—burns straight through me.
“You ready, baby?” I ask, though my voice is low, dangerous, more command than question.
