“Mmm…”
I hear her wake. Her breathing changes.
She doesn’t pull away.
On the contrary.
She presses back harder, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate circle that makes my vision blur for a second.
“Awake?” I whisper into her ear, my voice thick and hoarse.
“There’s something very hard pushing against my back, Becker,” she murmurs, still half-dreamy, but threaded with mischief.
“Is that a formal complaint?”
She laughs softly, the vibration rippling through my chest.
“No. It’s an observation.”
She moves again.
I feel the heat. The wetness between her legs.
“Do you feel it?” I ask, tightening my grip on her bound hand, pulling it closer to me. “Do you feel what you do to me even while you’re sleeping?”
“I feel you want me,” she replies.
That’s it.
I can’t resist any longer.
With my free hand—the one tucked beneath her head—I slide down her body, caressing her slowly, until I reach the place where our legs meet.
I tug down the waistband of my boxers impatiently, freeing myself.
Now it’s skin on skin.
My cock, hot and hard, finds the cleft between her ass, sliding against her wet opening.
Sloane gasps, arching her back.
“Cohen…”
“Shhh. Don’t turn around. Stay like this.”
I grip her upper thigh and lift it, opening her for me.
I push.
I enter her from behind, slowly, inch by inch.
The sensation is devastating.
She’s tight. Warm. Welcoming.
The way her muscles clamp around me, pulling me deeper, feels like pleasure pushed right to the edge of pain.
The cuffs jingle softly as my fingers lace with hers in front of her.
