An instant burst of heat rushes through my core, and for the first time in years, I stop thinking altogether. His teeth nip at my lip, and I shamelessly grind onto his cock, chasing the pleasure coiling through my belly.
Having his hands on me, his mouth on mine—it’s intense in a way I’ve never felt before, like a chemical reaction, an explosion of desire and need and longing.
A deep raspy sound rumbles in his throat, and my fingers inch to the waistband of his trunks. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me—what switch he’s flipped, but I don’t want to wait another moment to have him inside me.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth. “You’re killin’ me, honey. Give me a minute.” Fingers dig into my skin, halting the roll of my hips.
I freeze, heart racing, breath ragged. My body is so full of pent-up need that the idea of stopping makes meache.
“Did you change your mind?” I ask, breathless.
He drops his forehead to mine, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to catch his breath. “Hell no. But if we have sex right now, I’m pretty sure I’ll come before I even get all the way inside you.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “Worried about being a little quick on the trigger, Casanova?”
He chuckles. “Joke all you want, but this isn’t about me. It’s aboutyou.” He pauses, eyes searching mine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. And I’m not about to be just another guy who lets you down. So, as much as I want to be inside you right now—”
“How long are we talking?” I interrupt, trying to keep it light even though my insides twist.
He gives me a sheepish look. “Long enough that I don’t mind waiting a little longer. Especially if it means making sure this is whatyouwant.”
My cheeks heat. My body still aches for him, but now that his mouth isn’t on mine and my hips have stilled, there’s room for insecurity to creep in. That familiar tightness curls through my chest.
Sex has never been about me.
I’ve never been the focus. And now that I’m not trying to get him off, I don’t know what todowith myself. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to finish. And what happens if I can’t?
“Where’s your head at, Quinnie?”
I try to swallow down my insecurities, but they get lodged in my throat and fly past my lips unbidden. “It’s never been about me. I don’t know what to do. Like... all of a sudden I don’t know where to put my hands. Or if I’m doing too much. Or not enough. Or need a mint. Or what happens if I can’t get off?”
His lips twitch, but he bites back his smile because he knows I’m being serious—that these are the ridiculous things my brain has decided I need to worry about right now.
“Quinn,” he says, eyes connecting with mine. “There’s no pressure here. It’s just me. We’re having some fun. Youdoknow how to have fun, don’t you?” His question is a challenge.
I shoot him a narrow look. “Yes. I know how to have fun.”
“Good. Then, relax.” His thumbs make sweeping arches on the skin of my thighs, inching higher and higher, grazing my bikini line before retreating. “I want to make you feel good. Just like this. We don’t even need to take our clothes off.” His fingers brush gently against my bikini bottoms, trailing toward the ache between my thighs. “You okay with that?”
I nod, suddenly unable to speak.
His eyes skate over me, snagging on my peaked nipples. A hungry look settles over his features, and he leans forward, grazing my nipple through the fabric of my swimsuit with his teeth. A shock of pleasure shoots through me, and I gasp. His hand goes to my back, and he draws me further into his lap so I can feel him hard against me once more.
He tugs the material of my top to the side as he alternates between dragging his teeth across my nipple in teasing passes and sucking it into his mouth with deep pulls. My hands thread through his hair, holding him to me as I rock against him, desperation clawing to the surface once more.
He kisses up my throat before claiming my mouth again. His lips feel like heaven, but the way my body reacts says it’s closer to sin. Being good has never felt anything like this.
His hands map out my body, discovering new pieces of me bit by bit. He nudges my bikini bottoms aside, and I expel a shaky breath as hiscalloused fingers touch my bare flesh, sweeping over my clit and offering me the briefest moment of contact. It has my stomach tightening, coiling in on itself like a ball of yarn.
I want more. So much more, but he’s teasing me with light brushes of his fingers and soft nips at my neck instead.
I roll my hips, searching for something to fill the empty ache, for more friction. He smiles, dimples popping as his gaze trails over me. “Atta girl. Use me, honey. Make yourself feel good.”
I moan at the thought of being able to use a man solely for my pleasure. And God, he feels so good underneath me—thighs thick with muscle from riding and working on the ranch, arms tanned and stomach flat as his length digs into my thigh hard as stone.
Tripp Matthews is a fucking masterpiece.
His fingers strum my clit as I grind on him, like we have all the time in the world to learn each other—to explore, like we’re in high school and aren’t in any hurry to get naked.
