So fucking hot.
Harrison’s mouth claims the curve of my throat. Lips. Tongue. Teeth.
We topple onto the bed, him on his back, the thick, girthy length of him is in my hands. I stroke, and his back arches.
I lick once.
“Fuck,” he moans, then, pulls me up on him. “I’m not fucking your mouth, Pix.” Two fingers glide between my legs, and slide in. “I’m fucking your pretty pink pussy.”
God, the way this man talks does things to me.
He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks as he works me, in and out.
In. And. Out.
There’s so much pleasure in his touch. When his thumb rubs circles on my clit, I’m so wet.
“Don’t you dare come.”
So bossy.
His fingers ease out. He brushes his tip back and forth through my wet, swollen sex.
Both hands lock on my hips, control so tight, he’s trembling. “Are you ready, Pix?”
“Are you still talking, Lumberjack?”
His laughter rumbles, unrestrained.
He shoves in deep, and we both have to catch our breaths. This is so good. Too good.
And so damn deep…
We free-fall into a rhythm, our bodies taking over.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Pix,” he whispers, breathlessly, heat radiating off his broad chest and ripped abs.
He’s the beautiful one. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Every time I try to speed us up, he reins me in, drawing it out. Guiding us away from the brink.
Clinging to borrowed time.
“Tighter,” he growls, near feral.
I clench hard and ride this man like Lady Godiva.
I bite my lip, trying to hold back.
I can’t.
My back arches, and heat rushes through me in a violent, dizzy bloom.
“Oh, God,” I cry out, so loud his hand finds my mouth.
He flips me onto my back, his breath across my collarbone. “Shhh.”
I whisper, “Harder, Lumberjack.”
