Tantalizing, erotic,throbbingthings.
His hand finds my hair. He tugs, trailing open kisses down the front of my throat. My lungs constrict, each inhale more shallow than the last. I think I’m floating, yet every contact burns and lingers. He releases my hair, and his hand wanders down my back until it reaches the curve of my ass. He lets out an uneven sound as his palms grip my ass, and when his thumbs skim the naked skin below the hem of my dress, a shiver takes hold of me. Every inch of flesh is more sensitive than if I were undressed.
Gripping the waistband of his jeans, I give a tug, and he lifts his hips so I can pull them down. I grind against him, my panties connecting with his hard length through his boxers, and a shudder rolls through him.
“Fuck,” he groans. He traces a finger along my panties, starting at my clit, and electricity shoots to my core. His voice is hoarse, laced in lust and appreciation. “You’re soaking wet.”
I move against him again, slowly rotate my hips, and the heat, pressure, and friction spirals inside me. Even clothed, his erection hits me just right, rubbing perfectly against my clit. I grind against him again, and again, and my eyes roll back into my head. I had no idea dry humping could feel so good.
Easton’s fingers dip below my dress, sinking into the sensitive skin at the back of my thighs, and hungry lips trail up my throat until he returns to my mouth. His tongue latches onto mine, starving.
Riding Easton Rutherford is the most delicious and satisfying thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never been so turned-on in my life and without a flicker of apprehension. I swallow, absorbing the way we sit, the way we move, the way we touch. The way we’re dressed. Sensual butin control. Provocative butsafe. His hips grind against me, pulling a moan from my mouth, and I grip his shoulder, building up momentum as I chase what I need.
So close, so fucking close, but what Ireallyneed is to feel him.
Really feel him.
And I need him to know it’s okay.
Reaching between us, I slip my hand beneath his boxers. A deep, throaty sound rumbles up his chest, body tensing, as my fingers wrap around his smooth length. He pulls away from the kiss to watch my movements closely, panting.
I tug on the waistband of his boxers, and his Adam’s apple moves up and down as he helps me pull the material down.
I move the narrow strip of my panties to one side, holding it there. A low hiss escapes him as I lower myself onto him again, positioned the way we were before. Except this time, there’s no material in the way. We’re skin-to-skin. Heat to heat. My wetness traps him, and pleasure spikes through me like a bolt of lightning.
This time, when I grind against him, his jaw clamps shut, and the groan that shudders through him shakes his entire body. He’s not even inside me, but he feels sogood. It would be easy to go all the way with him—so easy. Except, even now, fear at that thought cripples me. He doesn’t seem to mind this though, so I force the thought away and continue to roll my hips up and down, up and down, from base to tip, familiarizing myself with him and ensuring he’s covered in my scent. I want to make him feel as good as he makes me feel.
The thought clutches my chest.
I have never, not once, enjoyed giving pleasure to someone else.
And yet every sound he makes sends a thrill through me, the sensation delicious but foreign.
He must notice the shift in my expression, because even as he shakes beneath me with every rock of my hips, his eyes soften. He touches the side of my cheek, bringing my face close to his. Our foreheads touch, damp and tangled with hair.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
I grind on him shamelessly, slow but hard. We breathe together, our lips parted, sustaining each other. The pressure builds, throbs between my thighs, until it’s almost unbearable. I bite down on my lip, pleasure seizing me. Easton’s eyelids lower as he watches me. He uses his palms to guide my hips a little harder. An uneven breath leaves my lips, and he lets out a low growl. With every slow movement, the sensation flutters, making it difficult to inhale. Until, finally, heat erupts, splintering from my most sensitive nerves, and I cry out. That’s all it takes for Easton to curse and pull my mouth to his, his body tensing and shuddering beneath mine as he comes hard with my tongue in his mouth.
Tremors still wrack us when his forehead drops onto my shoulder and my arms wrap around his neck. For a long time, we sit together, panting, in a loose, sweaty embrace. I almost can’t believe the best orgasm of my life happened while I was practically still fully clothed. He said he would show me what he meant. He said I didn’t have to undress for him. He even gave me the jacket that covers me up.
And yet hewantedme.
Hekissedme.
Heheldme.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, wiping wetness from my cheek with his thumb.
I didn’t know I was crying.
His brows slant beneath messy strands of hair, and he swallows. “Do you regret—”
“I like you,” I whisper. My voice is unsteady, and I can’t believe I just said that. But as the words settle weakly around us, I realize how inadequate they are for what I feel for him. They’re a joke. The embarrassment that flushes my neck afterward, however, is perfectly adequate. “Forget I said that. It was stupid.”
“I sabotage your showers.”
