Her hand works what she can’t fit in her mouth. When she looks up at me from under those lashes, it’s nearly game over. Then her other hand cups my balls with this careful, perfect pressure that makes my vision blur.
Christ. I’m not going to last.
Here’s the thing: I’m not usually the type to worry about stamina. I’ve had plenty of practice over the years, and I know how to pace myself, how to hold back, how to make sure the woman I’m with has a good time before I let go.
But with Ainsley? All that hard-won control is crumbling like wet sand.
Just when I think I’ll lose it far too soon, she pulls off and wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. A wicked smile curves those kiss-swollen lips.
“Condom?” she asks, sure of herself in a way that makes every nerve ending in my body stand at attention.
“Aye—in there.” I gesture towards the bedside table while trying not to combust entirely from anticipation.
She pulls open the drawer, finds one, and tears the packet open, her eyes fixed on mine. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but apparently everything Ainsley does is hot now.
She rolls the condom down my cock with fingers that linger just long enough to drive me mad. And then she climbs astride me—gorgeous hair spilling everywhere, tits heaving above me—and wraps her fingers around me, guiding me to her entrance.
The first slide is heaven.
Hot. Tight. Perfect.
I groan as she sinks down onto me, inch by inch, until our hips are flush and I’m buried so deep inside her I swear I can feel her heartbeat.
For a second, neither of us moves. The moment’s too big for anything but breathing each other in.
Then Ainsley leans forwards so we’re chest to chest, and she starts moving in slow circles that nearly end me.
She sets the rhythm. Takes what she wants at the pace she likes. All I can do is hold on to those lush hips for dear life while trying not to embarrass myself.
Her hair brushes across my cheek with every thrust forwards. When our eyes meet, it’s electric—all want and wonder and something else I’m not ready to name.
She rides me harder. Faster. Little gasps spilling from her lips. My hands grip tighter at her waist, and when I roll my hips up to meet hers, we both cry out together in a tangled mess of pleasure.
I’ve had good sex before. Course I have. But nothing’s ever hit like this. I don’t know what’s different about her, but whatever it is, I’m hooked.
It builds fast between us: fire licking low in my belly until there’s nothing left but white-hot need.
“Ainsley,” I groan—a warning maybe, or just a plea—but she only leans down so our foreheads touch, staring right into me as heat surges up my spine.
My balls tighten. That sharp, impossible pressure building?—
“Ainsley—”
And then I’m gone.
Coming hard, hips jerking up into her as she clenches around me, pulling every last drop from me. She cries out too, her whole body tightening, trembling, her pussy spasming around me, milking me through it until we’re both shaking, breath punched out of us in broken, desperate gasps.
When at last it ebbs, she collapses against my chest, and we just lie there. Clinging to each other. Panting.
The house is quiet. The bed’s warm. And Ainsley’s soft and sated in my arms.
I could stay like this forever.
We’re a glorious tangle of limbs when Ainsley finally lifts her head from my chest. She squints at the clock on the wall, then lets out a groan.
“Shit, Struan. We’re going to miss our lunch booking.”
For a solid five seconds, I just stare at her in confusion.
