“No.” His voice was harsh as he clasped his fist over hers, tightening painfully. “Like this.”
“Oh goodness.”
“Squeeze and pull.”
He took his hand away, because leaving it would mean taking control. Shoving in, thrusting, fucking.
“Put me in you, Abby.”
“Wait, I want to see you first. I need to—”
“Please,” he interrupted, his voice threaded with need. Her gaze rose to meet his.
One pass of her fist over him, as they held each other’s eyes, and fuck, he was a goner. Worse than before, because he understood that she’d hurt him. How could she not when he was already so chafed and raw? She scooted to the edge of the counter, lowered the tip of his cock, and slid it against her.
Luc’s breathing filled the air, along with her smell. He glanced up, catching her looking at him. Together, their attention flicked down, up and down. As her hand found her opening, he took that last half step into her body so they did this together—the giving and the taking. And together, their voices entwined in the air between them, wordless grunts on his end, a long, whimpering moan on hers.
His attention was fixed firmly below, his forehead pressed hard to hers, and fuck, it had been too long without her. His balls were high and tight, slapping gently against her at first, before her legs went around his hips and pulled him in harder.
She was as hot and snug as his own skin, and those curls between her legs made him want to tug. He’d do that next time, take his time. Now, though, he couldn’t, because his hands were planted on her hips, where he could pull her in, tighter, tighter, harder, with every thrust of his body into hers.
He was going to orgasm too fast, he realized. Too fucking soon. But he couldn’t slow down. Instead, he pulled one hand from her and slid it between them, to bury into that hair, find her clit and rub. No time for slow, no time for pretty. He used everything he had to make it quick, rough, the pad of his thumb and the side of one finger going fast and furious.
“Oh, oh, oh.” Abby’s noises were beautiful, musical, as he slowed his hips and quickened his fingers, almost stopping altogether when she clamped both hands to his wrist to slow him down.
“Let me. Let me make you come.”
“I can’t…”
“You need me to stop?”
Her eyes flew to his. “No. No, just…lighter.” She bit her lip. “Make it last longer.”
He almost chuckled at that, but it turned into a groan. “I’m not sure I can,mon amour.”
“It’s coming too fast,” she said, sounding slightly frantic, and he slowed his pace, and oh fuck, this was almost harder. Watching each long, slow slide into her was excruciating. Torture.
“I’m going to come,” he warned, and her eyes shot up to meet his.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Do it. Make me come, too.”
Christ, he loved how direct she was. How could she be like this after everything?How?
She convulsed around him tighter than he’d ever been clasped, and he couldn’t have stopped his climax for anything in the world. He lost it, deep inside her, holding her hard against him and wondering how on earth he was ever going to let her leave.
26
They moved to her bed, which was small and sagging but clean—none of which mattered with her in his arms.
They’d lain there for a while, her head on his chest, when she broke the silence.
“I’m getting him out tonight.”
He stiffened.
“I’ll drive.” He paused. “Shit.”
She leaned up on an elbow. “What is it?”
